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3 1924 088 007 954

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924088007954

BAMFOBUS PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF

A BADIGAL

BAMFORD'S PASSAGES

IN THE

LIFE OF A RADICAL

AND

EARLY DAYS

IN TWO VOLUMES

EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,

BY

HENRY DUNCKLEY

("VERAX")

VOL. I

':-' - ■: ^

T. FISHER UNWIN

PATERNOSTER SQUARE

MDCCCXCIII

CONTENTS OF "EARLY DAYS.

CHAP. p^OB

Introduction ...... 9

X Birth, Parentage, and ot^^r Matters . . .27

Ijt. Of ,my Forefathers . / . . . . 32

III. MiDDLETON , . , . . . .41

IV. Early Impressions— Middleton Reformers, &c. . 50
V. First Impressions of Manchester . . . .68
YI. Living beside the Dead — A Nurse ... 66

VII. A New Governess — Playmates, &c. . . .70

VIII. A Timely Retreat — The Free Grammar School— Books 77

IX. Another Great Change . . ' . . .90

X. A New Life ...... 96

XI. Sunday School — Correction — Prayer . . . 100

XII. A Home-Bearing — A Master Indeed . , . 106

XIII. Prayer Meetings— A Boggart — Christian Instruction . 114

XIV. Pastimes and Observances . . . . 119

XV. The Wakes — Games ..... 130

XVI. Bonfires — Superstitions — Apparitions . , . 140

XVII. Love Dawnings — Valentines — Singular Characters . 148

XVIII. Hope Deferred — New Employment — New Books . 160
XIX. The Woodlands — Limpin' Billy — Catherine . . 167

XX. Other Scenes . . . . . . 176

XXI. Old Feelings Awakened — A Visit, and other matters 184

XXII. Self-Disposal, but not Self- Control — Further Deroga-

tion — Trouble ...... 189

5

6 '■■^7>''- CONTENTS.

CHAP. ' PAGE

XXIII. A Long Journey — A New Life — An Absconding — ^Press

Gang — Travels . . ... v.. 195

XXIV. Journey Pursued — Adventures — Difficulties — Home . 209

XXV. Warehouse Work again — Readings — Catherine . 226
XXVI. Robert Burns — A Wedding — A Riot . v>,; . ■ 234

XXVII. A Criticism — Middleton Fight — A Parting — Conclusion 243

NOTE.

In revising Bamford's "Early Bays " and "Passages in the
Life of a Eadical," with a view to the present pubHcation, it
has been judged desirable to omit some portions which were
but of trivial or passing interest, and occasionally to compress
the narrative by leaving out formal documents and lists of
names, and throwing together a number of short chapters
dealing with the same group of facts. A few personal ani-
madversions, which after the lapse of fifty years it was hardly
worth while to repeat, ai-e also omitted. But beyond the
correction of obvious errors no other change has been made,
nor hardly a sentence altered. The works are reproduced
exactly as Bamford wrote them. One other point may be
mentioned. The " Passages," &c., was published some years
before the " Early Days," but in reprinting both as parts of
the same publication, it seemed proper to reverse the order.
The two together form a continuous piece of autobiography.

INTKODUCTION.

On the last day of March three-quarters of a century ago a
coach drew up at Bow Street conveying a batch of political
prisoners from Lancashire. There were eight of them, and
one of the number was a young man named Samuel Bamford,
a native of Middleton and a weaver by trade, whom we wish
to introduce to those of our readers who may not yet have
heard of him. It was a time of much excitement throughout

' the country. The close of the war had not brought with it
the blessings which had been expected. There was a sudden
stop to Government expenditure on a great scale. The world
was impoverised by a twenty years' struggle, and h,ad little
left for trade. Our manufacturers were substituting machinery
for manual labour, and this meant for the moment the throw-

' ing of a large number of ** hands " out of employ. There was
great distress in the manufacturing districts of the north, and
much discontent. The people threw the blame upon the

' Government ; they had no voice in Parliament, and they were
persuaded that if they had there would soon he an end to their
misery. At any rate a House of Commons which fairly
represented the nation would never have passed the infamous
Corn Law for keeping up agricultural rents by making bread
dear. With or without reason the workpeople in the north
looked upon their hardships as wrongs for which the men in
power were responsible. They petitioned Parliament, and
finding that their petitions were not listened to they began to
conspire. Secret meetings were held in almost every town
and village. Wild schemes were broached ; though ministers

9

10 INTBODUCTION,

turned a deaf ear to the cries of famishing multitudes, they
were not beyond the reach of vengeance. A few desperate
men might easily make London or Manchester " a second
Moscow." It was believed that Government spies were abroad,
and that in the furtherance of their trade, in order to have
something to disclose, the most violent suggestions came, from
them. It is certain that the Government were greatly alarmed.
Detective measures were set in motion, and the Habeas Corpus
Act was suspended to give them free play.

The party who arrived at Bow Street were supposed to have
been engaged in these secret meetings, and they had been
arrested on suspicion of high treason. They had been travel-
ling since five o'clock of the morning of the day before ; they
were poorly clad ; they were chained to each other, and in this
plight most of them, and Bamford for one, made their first
acquaintance with London. But they were brimful of Lanca-
shire humour. At an hostelry opposite Bow Street, where
they were lodged for the night, they had a heartier meal than
had fallen to their share for many a day, and after supper they
amused the " King's messengers " and the Bow Street officers
in whose charge they were with songs and recitations. The
next day they were taken before the Privy Council, where
Lord Sidmouth presided, with Lord Castlereagh by his side.
After a few questions asked of them separately they were sent
by way of detention to Coldbath Fields prison. They Xvere
brought up several times before the Privy Council, and ^t the
end of a month their fate was decided. Some of Bamford's
companions were more or less implicated in proceedings which
might be held to convey a suspicion of treasonable designs.
These were sent to distant gaols till the Privy Council might
choose to release them. Bamford had not gone so far. .He
shared their political ideas, but he shrank from acts of violence.
He was of an ardent temperament, he could not long brook
the monotony of ordinary life, and was always ready for an
adventure of any sort. But he was good-natured, kind-hearted,
and open as the day. There was nothing of the stuff of a
conspirator in him. He was also shrewd enough to see
through -the itiners^nt agitators who were taking advantage of

INTBODUGTION. , 11

the general discontent and endeavouring to instigate the work-
ing classes to desperate measures. He had early taken alarm
at what he heard ; he had warned others against having any-
thing to do with secret meetings, and had kept aloof from them
himself. The Privy Council had no doubt plenty of evidence
good and bad in their hands, but none of it told against Bam-
ford. His personal appearance, his manner and style of
address, appear to have made a favom^able impression upon
the Council. Naturally frank and fearless, he was not the man
to be cowed by the sight of the ** green cloth" and of the
great people round it. He was rather fond of figuring as a
"freeborn Englishman," and of magnifying the prerogatives
which belonged to him in that capacity. He questioned their
lordships abolit his right to petition Parliament, and among
other favours asked to be allowed the use of pen, ink, and
paper, that he might keep a diary. Would they let him have
books and a supply of clean linen ? Delighting in his native
Doric, he could speak fluently in language which had in it
something of a literary flavour. Lord Castlereagh eyed him
curiously. Lord Sidmouth treated him with perfect courtesy
and bestowed some compliments. At his last appearance
before the Council Lord Sidmouth said he had great pleasure
in restoring him to his family, and, trusting that he would not
be seen there again, assured him that he wished him well.

Bamford did not appear again before the Privy Council, but
two years later he was involved, most undeservedly, in more
serious trouble. It was in connection with the famous meet-
ing of Eeformers held at St. Peter's Field, Manchester, on the
16th of August, 1819, generally known as '* Peterloo." The
measures taken by the Government had not put a stop to
agita^iion, but the proceedings were of a more open and public
character. Sir Charles Wolseley, Major Cartwright, and Mr.
Hunt, were at the head of the movement, aind great care was
taken to keep it within lawful bounds. Perhaps one of the
plans adopted was open to misapprehension. The people were
exhorted to drill, not, it was said, with any view to an armed
outbreak, but merely that they might appear at public meet-
ings in better order. Drilling went on at Middleton, as at

12 INTRODUCTION.

other places, and Bamford was one of the leaders. At night-
fall, or in the early mornings, they would betake themselves to
the moors, form themselves into companies, march, and face
about at the word of command. The day appointed for the
Manchester meeting was coming on, a great procession was to
set out from Middleton, and all were anxious that they should
acquit themselves with credit. When the day came Bamford
headed the procession. They carried banners, but no weapons,
not even walking sticks. Many of the men had their wives
and sweethearts with them. It was a great holiday " turn
out," the prevailing merriment being a little subdued by a
sense of patriotic aims, and it was moreover a grand thing to
march and pause at the sound of the bugle. The magistrates
were in a state of alarm. They had communicated with the
Government and received instructions. Special constables
were sworn in, the Manchester and Cheshire Yeomanry were
stationed near the spot where the meeting was to be held, and
a company of the 15th Hussars was within call. Everybody
knows how the meeting was broken up, and at what cost of
violence and bloodshed. A few days after the meeting Bam-
ford, along with Hunt and others, was apprehended. The
charge was again one of high treason, and Nadin, an historical
personage in the Manchester police, whispered to him that he
would certainly be hanged this time. The accused were com-
mitted to Lancaster Castle, but the trial was appointed to
take place at York, the charge being reduced from high treason
to one of seditious assembly. Bamford and three others were
found guilty. Sir John Bayley summed up strongly in Bam-
ford's favour, but prejudice carried the day. They were libe-
rated on their recognisances to appear at the Court of King's
Bench in the ensuing Easter term to receive judgment, which
in Bamford' s case was that he should be imprisoned in Lincoln
Castle for twelve months, and afterwards give securities for
good behaviour.

His year's imprisonment was a turn in Bamford's life. He
took it with his usual good humour. He held the verdict to
be infamous, but he had done that which a jury found to be
a crime, and he had a sort of proud willingness to pay the

IJSTHOBUCTION. . 13

forfeit. His maxim as a prisoner was to submit himself cheer-
fully to discipline and pay implicit obedience to orders. He
soon became a general favourite. The governor treated him
with the utmost kindness. He and an old comrade shared
the same room, his political friends supplied him with a
moderate allowance of cash, and he was permitted to provide
for himself. His only hardship was detention, and this had
many alleviations. The visiting justices took an especial
interest in his case, and from the conversations they had with
him they seem to have come to the conclusion that he was in
many ways deserving of respect. It came to be understood
that Lincoln Castle had not often opened its gates to a better
or more intelligent man. He took with him the reputation of
being a poet, and his claim was acknowledged. He could sing
his own songs and tell capital stories. Indulgence in his
favour was carried to unusual limits. He wished to see his
wife, and she was allowed to visit and stay with him, a room
being fitted up for them. She stayed with him several
months, going in and out as she pleased, and doing her
marketing as at home. No wonder that on the day of his
discharge he thanked the magistrates for the kindness which
had been shown to him. Mr. Scarlett, afterwards Lord
Abinger, who had conducted the prosecution, singled him out
for special attention. The " King's messengers " who took
charge of him on his way to London ' to appear before the
i Privy Council, surprised him by their civihty. He found that
people in the upper ranks and those they employed, whom he
had been accustomed to denounce as tyrants and oppressors,
were not so bad as he had imagined. The discovery told upon
him, and had some permanent results. It modified to a
considerable extent the colouring if not the texture of his
opinions.

Perhaps the truth is that as a politician Bamford is not to
be taken too seriously. His politics were a part of his
temperament, and varied with its changing moods. His
character was essentially romantic, and he leaned to the
sentimental side of everything. The result was a sort of
every-day idealism, a dream of something brighter .and in

14 INTRODUCTION,

every way iriore desirable than the present moment happened
to have brought with it. In his youth he had been left- pretty
much to himself. There had been an actual lack of discipline,
though it is very likely that if the yoke had been forced upon
him by parental or other authority, he would have shaken it
off. He had fair opportunities for making his way in the
world. He had plenty of ability, everybody liked him, and
patient application would have enabled him to reach what is
usually understood by ** a good position." It was certainly
his own choice, or the result of a series of voluntary failures,
that he took to silk-weaving as a permanent occupation.
Who shall say that his choice is to be regretted? Who
shall say that he was not on the whole happier and better
than if he had kept to the beaten track which leads to success
and made a fortune ? At any rate, we should have been the
poorer. Hundreds of Lancashire men, then and since, start-
ing where he did, and with talents smaller than his, have
attained to great wealth, and have passed away without
leaving a vestige of anything to remind the next generation
that they had lived at all. Bamford escaped a common-place
career. He followed the bent of his inclinations. He lived
his own life, proud as an aristocrat and gay as a bird. It was
not given him to attain to a high place in literature. The
wonder is that he found a place in it at all. But he was not with-
out culture. He had read some of the best books, he was fond of
poetry, and believed himself to be a poet. In this persuasion he
no doubt flattered himself too highly, but he had a gift of versi-
fication which was a source of constant delight. In prose he
succeeded better. The narrative he has left us of his " Early
Days," and his " Passages in the Life of a Kadical," need no
apology. If allowance be made for some technical defects due
to an irregular education, they may be said to reach a high
level in point of style. He knows how to use his mother
tongue. His diction is copious and unfettered, and not wholly
of the homely cast, which might have been expected from the
pen of a hand-loom weaver. There is enough of homeliness
to give an agreeable flavour, but the more cultivated forms of
expression come naturally to him. He is at home in telling a

- ^ INTRODUCTION. 15

good story, and overflows with humour in describing a gro-
tesque situation, or in painting the foibles of his friends, while
his love of nature supplies his imagination with illustrations
which err only on being at times perhaps too exuberant: All
may read him with pleasure. They will find in his pages
such pictures of Lancashire life and manners, of from fifty to
a hundred years ago, as are hardly to be met with elsewhere.

In the work by which he is best known, Bamford describes
himself as " a Radical," and the designation is no doubt cor-
rect, especially when used retrospectively. But his political
attitude underwent a change after his release from Lincoln
Castle. He was not on the best of terms with his old friends,
and the faultrwas probably not wholly theirs. Often modest
and even humble in his professions, he nevertheless thought a
good deal of himself, and any failure to recognise his claims
was noted down and resented. The habit of self-assertion
must have made him an inconvenient colleague. He was
sensitive and suspicious, apt to take offence where none was
intended. He was quick to imagine himself the victim of
some intrigue engaged in for the purpose of lowering his credit
or impeaching his integrity. By way of reprisal he turned his
back upon the offenders, would have no more to do with them,
and played the part of a Radical in retreat. In referring to
his past experiences, he spoke as one who had been for a time
deluded, but whose eyes had been opened and was thenceforth
half -repentant. To some extent this was due to his closer
acquaintance with Mr. Hunt, the principal figure at the
Peterloo meeting, who had been arrested and tried along with
him. He had looked up tp Hunt as a leader. He was awed
by his oratory, and taking him on his own terms, believed him
to be a patriot of the loftiest type. On coming to know him
better this flattering estimate gave way to disapproval and
contempt. Rightly or wrongly, he came to the conclusion
that Hunt was a vain-glorious, self-seeking demagogue, willing
to sell his soul for the cheers of the mob. He resented the
deception, and resolved to take good care never to be deceived
again. In pursuance of this resolution he extended the infer-
ence drawn from the single example of Hunt to all who took

16 INTRODUCTION,

a prominent part in agitating for political reforms. He had
done with agitators for ever. He fancied that he understood
their craft, and he was not going to be victimised a second
time. Looking back upon his own exploits, he regarded them
in the light of escapades, the outcome of untaught and undis-
ciplined sentiment, and such perhaps they were, though
influenced by a good deal of honest feeling. In his own
opinion he had grown wiser,' and he made it thenceforth a
part of his duty to warn others against the false lights which
had led him astray.

There was another feature of Bamford's character which
helped towards this result. He had an amiable desire to be
thought well of by others. He was a good deal less than
indifferent to approbation, and he valued it according to the
social heights from which it descended. When it was known
that he had separated himself from those who were supposed
to aim at accomplishing political changes by violent methods,
and that he viewed his own past conduct with some degree of
reprehension, he became an object of interest to local men of
the wealthier class. They praised him for what they naturally
described as his moderation and good sense. In turbulent
times they pointed him out as a laudable example. If their
own workmen, striking perhaps for higher wages and even
threatening to break their machines, would only follow the
advice of Bamford, everything, it was suggested, would go
well. The workpeople did not care to be confronted with such
an example, and they gradually came to look upon Bamford
as a renegade from the class to which he once belonged. ' The
severance became wider when it was known that he no longer
depended for a living upon the work of the loom. His promi-
nence as a politician and his literary talents had been the
means of procuring employment on the press. He was the
correspondent of a London newspaper, and he acted as
occasional reporter for papers in the neighbourhood. He
removed to a better house. He could make verses, moreover,
and a corner was sometimes found for them in the newspapers.
To counsel men not to break machines might well be regarded
as easy talk for one who had ceased to weave at all, and to

INTBOBUCTION. 17

whom, therefore, the question of machinery was a iliatter of
indifference. The outcry against him served only to confirm his
isolation, and though he was always the zealous advocate of what
he took to be the real interests of the working classes he liked
quite as well to play the part of their critic and candid friend.
He had no sympathy with the Chartist agitation. The objects
aimed at by the Chartists were the same as those for which he
had gone to prison ; but he denounced them and their leaders
with a hearty virulence which would have won the praise
of any Tory. When special constables were called out to
put down disturbances, he took up the truncheon. If there
are any of the Conservative school who may fancy that their
time would be thrown away in reading " Passages in the Life
of a Eadical," they need not be deterred by any such con-
sideration. They will find a good deal in him that is in entire
harmony with their own views. The spirit of much that he
has written, detached from particular expressions of opinion,
can hardly fail to command their sympathy. All this did not
disqualify him for thp place he held in the ranks of local
Liberalism — then rather Whig than Eadical — and there can be
no doubt that he was sincere and honest throughout.

Bamford took naturally to the press. He was communi-
cative, and, having something to say, he did not rest till he
had said it. He published in pamphlet form an account of his
first arre,st and of the subsequent proceedings connected with
it. This was soon followed by a small volume of verses,
entitled "The Weaver Boy, or Miscellaneous Poetry." His
poetical reputation went with him to York and London on his
second arrest. Mr. Scarlett, the prosecuting counsel, had
heard of the " Weaver Boy," and asked Bamford to send him
a copy. We have said that he was known as " a poet " at
Lincoln Castle. That circumstance probably influenced the
magistrates in his favour, and procured him more indulgent
treatment than he would otherwise have received. The
Peterloo meeting was a great event , in his personal history.
For his share in it he had been, as he believed, unjustly con-
demned and imprisoned. It was also an event of national
importance. It had attracted the attention of the whole

/ VOL. I. 8

18 INTBODUGTION.

country, and had led to animated debates in Parliament.
Bamford could not help feeling that the whole affair was the
result of a deplorable misunderstanding. The '* upper classes "
were unacquainted with the condition and wants of the poor ;
they were badly informed as to the character of their political
aspirations ; and perhaps the poor were to some extent pre-
judiced in the view they took of the attitude of the "upper
classes " towards them. Bamford was also impressed with
what seemed to him a certain hollowness of the agitation on the
popular side. He had been brought into close acquaintance
with the leaders, and was on the whole disgusted. Here,
then, was something to be told. The epic almost demanded a
narrator. It seemed to him a duty to give to his countrymen
the benefit of his experiences. His first attempt was a failure.
He wrote an introduction and sent it to Mr. Tait, of '* Tait's
Magazine," together with an outline of the proposed work, and
offered to supply "copy" monthly. Mr. Tait declined the
offer, but gave him advice. He urged him to go on with the
work, and when he had finished to submit it to some intelligent
and sensible friend — naming Ebenezer Elliott — with full per-
mission to cut out all its redundancies. Mr. Tait's judgment
was no doubt correct, but it was based upon an unfortunate
specimen. The introduction, which Bamford loved too well to
give up, was the worst part of the work as it afterwards
appeared, and if the whole had been written in the same high-
flown style it would have been unreadable. Bamford did not
relish the experienced publisher's advice, and abandoned the
project for a time.

It was resumed in 1839. The Chartist agitation was then
in 'full swing. The scheme of a "Sacred Month" was pro-
posed, during which all work should be abandoned. A friend
had furnished him with a prose translation of Berenger's "La
Lyonnaise." This he had thrown into verse, and he now
published it as .a pamphlet,, together with a stirring and
eloquent address. It is said to have had some considerable
influence in dissuading the working men of the neighbourhood
from taking part in the questionable proceedings then contem-
plated. His former project was now revived. He saw the

INTMODVCTION. 19

bookseller's windows filled with numbers of " Pickwick/'
** Nicholas Nickleby," and " Jack Sheppard." Surely he
could do something better than "the trashy, unreal novels
which the press deigned to extol." But he could not find a
publisher. One to whom he applied would not take the work
even with a present of the copyright. It was clear that if it
was to be done at all he must assume the sole responsibility.
Accordingly he engaged a printer, got five hundred copies of
the introduction and the first chapter printed off, and paid for
them. His wife stitched them into covers, and then his busi-
ness was to sell them. By the time the ninth and tenth sheets
were published he had twelve hundred subscribers, and the
earlier sheets had to be reprinted. The work was a success
and the profit it yielded was highly acceptable. It was noticed
in the "Athenaeum" and the "Quarterly." His friend
Ebenezer Elhott sent him warm congratulations. Mr. Scar-
lett., then Lord Abinger, took copies, and mentioned the work
to Lord Campbell, Lord Brough£j,m, the Duke of Buccleuch,
and others who showed a warm interest in promoting its circu-
lation. " The head of the great Tory Lowthers," the Earl of
Lonsdale, wrote to assure him that he had " read his works
with great satisfaction." Bamford speaks rather bitterly of
the very different treatment he received from " some Liberals."
With the general result he had every reason to be satisfied.
He was now a public character. He was appealed to as an
authority on working-class politics. His vnritings were made
to furnish lessons of reproof as well as instruction for those
who were being led astray by " the wiles of the agitator." The
position was in some respects unfortunate, but he had no
great difficulty in maintaining the character thus pressed upon
him.

In 1848 Bamford published his " Early Days," giving us his
own history down to the time of his first arrest, and recollec-
tions embracing the whole life of the district as far back as his
memory carried him. This is a delightful production, abound-
ing in idyllic pictures and romantic adventures, and in passages
of genuine pathos. He had something in the way of ancestry
to boast of. His family had long been rooted in the soil, and

20 INTBODVCTION.

but for an ancestor's Puritan scruples, he might have been a
country squire instead of a hand-loom weaver. A fine oppor-
tunity was thrown away when his father took him from the
Manchester Grammar School. If he had been permitted to
reap the full advantages afforded by that institution, even as it
was then, his natural talents would have found their proper
scope, though in that case the Peterloo meeting would have
missed one of its heroes, and we should not have had the
" Passages in the Life of a Kadical." Bamford's autobiography
has the stamp of truthfulness. He lays his heart open and
tells us everything. His youth was wild and stormy, and it
must be said that he was anything but exemplary in point of
morals. He had to run away from the parish constables to
escape the pecuniary consequences of one of his indiscretions.
A little girl whom he had loved as a boy, after some temporary
transfer of affection on his part, became his wife. But the
nuptial knot was tied too late for his reputation. Their only
child, then "just beginning to take notice," was placed in his
arms with some ceremony at the wedding festival, and he
speaks of her constantly as his ** love child." But having said
this we have said the worst, and never was a wrong more
amply atoned for. He was the most faithful of husbands, the
most loving of fathers. The three were bound together by the
tenderest ties. His wife shared his trials with uncomplaining "
devotion, and he lavished upon his " Mima " the treasures of a
homely but passionate poetry. A more beautiful picture can
hardly be imagined than that presented by their domestic life.
His narrative is full of interest in other respects. He gives us
a graphic portraiture of a state of manners which has passed
away. We see modern Lancashire in its first making, before
the period of big factories set in, when the weaver fetched
his materials from Manchester, wrought them up in his own
cottage, and took them back again when the task was finished.
Five minutes would take the weaver from his loom into paths
that led soon into the loveliest solitudes. He was thus '
enabled to live in close companionship with nature. Usages
which had come down unchanged for centuries were still in
full vigour, and life, though laborious, and in hard times

INTRODUCTION, ' 21

)inched with poverty, was nevertheless full of joy. The tra-
litions of a distant time had floated down unbrokei^. There
vere stories to be told of Flodden, and the events of '45,
vhen the local Jacobites were blessing the Pretender, seemed
b thing of yesterday. All this Bamford gives us in his raciest
ityle and with never-failing humour. The historian who
vishes to present us with certain aspects of English life at
he beginning of the century can hardly afford to miss his
pages.

From some remarks which occur in one of the chapters
lubsequently added as supplementary to his " Passages in the
[jife of a Kadical," it would seem that a time came when
3amford thought himself entitled to some recognition from the
government. It appears that Mr. (afterwards Sir Benjamin)
Jawes said in the House of Commons how desirable it was
hat ** rewards and encouragements" should be bestowed upon
hose of the working classes " who distinguished themselves
)y attention to reading and the cultivation of their minds,"
i,nd that Sir Kobert Peel, in expressing his approval of the
luggestion, "pointed out a mode by which such individuals
night be rewarded without bringing an additional burden
ipon the country." Bamford' s comment is this : ** If studious
■eaders, then, and self- cultivators among the working classes
ire to be distinguished and rewarded, what shall be done to
ihose of the same grade who not only have read a deal and
ihought a deal, but have also written good books for others to
•ead ? Aye, books that mayhap have not only been read by
vorking men with advantage, but also with profit as well as
)leasure by some whose robes have brushed the throne, if not
)y the fair one who sits upon the throne herself ; what shall
)e the reward of these men ?" He says a page or two later
hat he had been led into these remarks by a strong desire
do justice to others rather than to benefit himself. He was
* tainted with the irredeemable sin of political leadership,"
md was *' prepared for the consequences." " An independent
)ut unassuming spirit, and contentment with the humblest
are " had rendered him ** almost impervious to vicissitude,"
md had made him the sort of man and his wife the sort of

22 INTBODUCTION.

woman ** to smile at things and at the want of things which to
many would be an affliction." Whatever may have been
Bamford's intention, there can be no doubt as to the interpre-
tation which his friends would put upon those professions, and
there were some who were in a position to help him. In 1852
he had the offer of an appointment in Somerset House, and it
was accepted. It was that of doorkeeper or messenger. He
was then sixty- four years of age. The hours were easy and
the duties light, but he did not keep it long. It is said that -
he pined for old scenery and old friends. This may be true,
but it is also true that he thought the position beneath him.
He was too proud for the place, and he soon gave it up, pre-
ferring a precarious livehhood in the midst of his old haunts
to a certainty which seemed to him to be associated with some
degree of degradation. It was also to some extent the out-
break of a constitutional foible. He had never from the days
of his youth been able to endure the monotony of fixed and
regular employment.

As time went on Bamford took a sort of historical position
among the Liberals of Manchester. Minor incidents were
forgotten. He was regarded as a relic of a past around which
legends began to gather. His tall and erect form, his rugged
^and massive features, a flowing beard, and locks of grey hair
that were left to fall upon his shoulders made him a con-
spicuous object everywhere. One could almost fancy him a
Druid in modern garb. His friends delighted to do him honour.
His portrait hangs in the Manchester Kef or m Club, along with
those of Cobden, Bright, Gladstone, the Duke of Devonshire,
and the Earl Grey of the first Keform Bill. At private gather^
ings he would often be present as the lion of the night, but '
he was gruff, and often growled at those who tried to stroke
him. When his infirmities increased with advancing years a
" syndicate " of admirers supplied him with a modest income
sufficient for all his wants. He died on April 13, 1872, at the
ripe age of 84. A flat stone in Middleton churchyard marks
the spot where his remains lie interred, along with those of his
wife and daughter. Beneath each of their names is an epitaph
in verse of his own composing. Beneath his own is a brief

INTBODUCTION. 23

V

record of what he was and did. A short distance off, where
the churchyard hill overhangs the town, a stone obelisk, bear-
ing his efi&gy in bronze, has been erected to his memory ; but
his works will prove a more enduring monument.

EABLY DAYS.

EAELY DAYS.

CHAPTER I.

BIBTH, PARENTAGE, AND OTHER MATTERS.

My parents were a worthy and honest couple, residing, when
I was born, in the town of Middleton, near Manchester. My
father was a weaver of muslin, at that time considered a fine
course of work, and requiring a superior hand; whilst my
mother found plenty of employment in occasional weaving, in
winding bobbins or pins for my father, and in looking after
the house and the children, of whom I was the fourth born,
and the third then living. I have always been given to under-
stand that I was brought into the world on the 28th day of
February, in "the Gallic aera — eighty- eight," when, certainly,
many of the world's troubles, as well as my own, had a begin-
ning. My parents were religious, of which further will appear
hereafter. My father, for his station in life, was a superior
man. He had many talents, both natural and acquired, which
in those days were not often possessed by men of his, condition
in society. He was considerably imbued with book knowledge,
particularly of a religious kind ; wrote a good hand ; understood
arithmetic ; had some acquaintance with astronomy ; was a
vocal and instrumental musician, singing from the book and
playing on the flute ; he had a deep taste for melody, as I can
recollect from the tunes he played ; he was likewise an occa-
sional composer of music, and introduced several of his pieces
amongst the religious body with which he was connected ; he
was also a writer of verses of no mean order — so that, take him
for all in all, he stood far above his rustic acquaintance in the

27

28 EABLY DAYS.^ ;

village, and had to endure the usual consequences — envy, and
detraction from the meanest of them. During the hot blood of
his youth few young men could stand before him, either in the
wrestling bout or the battle. I have heard it told that, in
those days, notwithstanding his taste for books, and music,
and other means for true enjoyment, he at times associated
with the wild rough fellows of the neighbourhood at the Church
Alehouse, or at the Boar's Head Inn, and drank, danced, or,
when nothing less would do, fought with the moodiest or
merriest of them. He stood six feet in height, with a good
breadth of chest, a powerful arm, a strong, well-formed leg,
and a neat, compact foot that could either spring over a five-
barred gate, or deal a bone-breaking kick to an adversary.
Such, however, was not his wont; when he did fight it was
almost certain to be either in self-defence, or in behalf of right
which some bully would be trying to domineer over or coerce.
At one of these battles, which were forced upon him, the
contest took place in a room called " the thrashing-bay," at
the Boar's Head, Middleton ; it lasted two full hours, up and
down fighting, and at the end of that time his adversary, a
very powerful man from a neighbouring township, lay helpless
on the floor, and had to be carried home by his companions. I
mention these feats of my father's youth not in a spirit com-
mendatory of their mere featship ; with him, his physical power
was never a matter of boast, but rather led him to a pacific
guardedness of its use ; whilst with me the dominance of mere
muscle and bone never was, never will be, held in honour,
except when exercised in the repression of other brute forces
employed in the perpetration of wrong, or in the maltreatment
of right. In such a case I would say, " Let physical power
bend the full weight of its vigour to its work, and not give over
too soon, not leave off when part done."

But irregularities like these of my father's young days,
violent probably in proportion to their unfrequency, could noti
be indulged in without producing their natural consequences.
His health was impaired ; he took cold after cold, and disre-
garded them, and at length a violent fever laid him prostrate
at the verge of the grave. On his recovery he was an altered

jDixiTH, rAHENTAGE, AND OTHER MATTERS. 29

man. His own natural sense, supported by the serious advice
of relatives and friends, determined him on endeavouring to
lead a different life. Being convinced that the course he had
pursued was fraught with evil as well as folly, he sought divine
aid in abandoning it, and he joined a society of Methodists, of
which his parents and several individuals of the family were
already members.

When his health had become re-established, neither his good
resolutions nor God's help forsook him. He continued a member
of the religious society he had joined ; became " a burning and
a shining light," as the Methodists term an exemplary young
member; and soon afterwards marrying my mother, he set
forward, as we may say, on his pilgrimage through this world, ,
and " Zionward." In due time a young family began to sprout
about his heels, and, with a view to meet increasing expendi-
ture, he and a brother of his named Thomas adventured a small
capital of money in the spinning line, which was then done by
jenny, and in weaving their yarns into grey cloth. They suc-
ceeded, in proportion to their most sanguine expectations, for
there was then a market for anything which the spindle or the
hand-loom could make, and they were about to realise all they
had dared to hope, when a member of their religious body, one
of their *' brethren in Israel," piqued, as they supposed, by
their increasing influence in a religious as well as worldly sense,
suddenly called on them for the repayment of a sum which he
had lent them for the purpose of commencing their business,
and persisting in his demand, they sold off their stock of cloth
and machinery, paid every farthing they owed, and closed their
concern, my father sitting down to the business of school-
master, and my uncle resuming the manual operations of a
weaver and small farmer. Difficulties stiU increased with the
wants of our family ; my father's school profits were not suffi-
ciently steady to be depended upon, and he relinquished them
and returned to the loom. The throes of the French Kevolu-
tion and the excitement they created in 'England soon afterwards
deranged both money transactions and mercantile affairs.
Banks stopped, payments were suspended, and trade was at a
stand. Woe to the poor weaver then, with his loom without

30 EARLY DAYS.

work, the provision shop without credit, and his wife and weans
foodless, and looking at each other, and at him, as if saying —
Husband ! father ! hast thou neither bread nor hope for us ?

It was at about such a period as this that my earliest
recollections of my parents and our family commence. My
father, as I have said, was a huge-framed body of a man, but
at that time he was pale, stooping, and attenuated, probably
from scanty fare, as well as repeated visitations of sickness.
My mother — and I have her image distinctly before me — was
a person of very womanly and motherly presence. Tall, up-
right, active, and cleanly to an excess : her cheeks were fair and
ruddy as apples ; her dark hair was combed over a roll before
and behind, and confined by a mob cap as white as bleached
linen could be made ; her neck was covered by a handkerchief,
over which she wore a bed-gown, and a clean checked apron,
with black hose and shoes, completed her every-day attire.
Her name was Hannah — a name I shall always love for her
sake ; she was the youngest daughter of Jeffrey Battersby, a
master boot and shoemaker, of whom more hereafter. She
had two sisters married, one to a tradesman named Healey,
residing at Rochdale, and the other to a woollen-draper living
at Manchester ; consequently they were both doing compara-
tively well in the world, whilst my poor mother's dark cloud
was ascending and spreading over herself, her husband, and
her five children. Small and fitful was the comfort she received
from her kindred; but her sister Clemmy (Clementine), at
Manchester, treated her with a coolness and indifference which
cut my mother to the soul. I perhaps should not have men-
tioned names in connection with these circumstances had not
the recollections of my mother's sufferings divested me of every
wish for reserve. Oh ! how immeasurably superior was my
poor, but noble-hearted parent, to her proud, mean, sordid
sister. I remember as it were but yesterday, after one of her
visits to the dwelling of that " fine lady," she had divested
herself of her wet bonnet, her soaked shoes, and changing her
dripping outer garments, stood leaning with her elbow on the
window sill, her hand up to her cheek, her eyes looking on
vacancy, and the tears trickling over her fingers. She had

JJ

xMi±rL, fJiUtiiJSTAQE, AND OTHER MATTERS. 31

been all the weary way to Manchester and back — and it was a
long weary road in those days; she had knocked at her ** great"
sister's door, a servant had admitted her, and, more humane
than her mistress, had ventured to ask her to a seat by the
kitchen fire, where her proud sister saw her in passing, and
scarcely deigned to notice her. The servants, however, in
whom the impulses of common humanity had not been sup-
pressed by pride, offered her refreshment ; but her heart was
too full, and back through the rain, and the wind, and the
stormy weather, less inclement than her misnamed relative,
did she return to her young and anxiously waiting family, to
whose caresses and tender questionings her only reply was, for
a while, unrestrained tears.

The recollection of my heart-wounded, but noble-minded
and forgiving mother, as she suffered under that trial, is still
vividly before me ; and never, I believe, will it be obliterated
from my memory so long as consciousness remains. Ever
since I had the faculty for reasoning on these recollections I
have cherished an unmitigable contempt for mere money pride,
much of it though there be in the world, and as thorough a
contempt have I ever felt for the unfeelingness which mam-
monish superiority too often produces. Samson said, " Out
of the eater came forth meat " ; and in application of the
parable I may truly say that, out of the unnatural conduct of
my mother's sister, arose the very natural and self-sustaining
disdain of that mother's son towards all pretension not based
on worth, towards all superiority not exalted by goodness. To
rank, of&ce, or to station arising from office, suitable concedence
would I make ; to the man filling that office or station such
deference as were commensurate with his known worth would
I tender; but to the poor human hull, irrespective of self-
desert, would I not concede anything. Before the mere
man-husk, however large his money-bag — nay, though he were
" plated with gold,'^ not one hair of my head should be abased.
Thus the germ of this feeling of repulsion (calculated for evil
or for good, according to its right or wrong appUcation) became
interwoven with my existence, and part of my being, for all my
after life.

CHAPTER II.

OF MY FOEEFATHEES.

Having thus, as it were, identified myself and my parents,
it may not be improper to give some account of my pro-
genitors, especially as two of them were connected with the
historical events of their country; and the religious tenacity
of a third was said to have decided the fate of his descendants
with respect to worldly condition.

It would be about a hundred and thirty-two years since, or
the year 1716, that my father's grandfather, James Bamford,
lived at Hools Wood, in Thornham, keeping there a small
farm, and making cane reeds for weavers of flannel and coarse
cotton. Of his children I know not anything, save that he
had many sons from whom the Bamfords of Middleton,
Alkrington, Tonge, and some other neighbouring places are
descended. According to what was handed down in our
branch of his posterity, he was the next heir to the estate
of Bamford Hall, where he used to visit and be on terms of
intimacy with William Bamford, the last male of the old
family, who resided at the hall. My ancestor was, it seems,
fond of the chase, and on hunting and shooting days, he was
frequently at the hall and dined with the other guests. At
this time the property was said to be entailed ; though for
the truth of that I vouch not any more than I do for other
traditionary matters which follow. My aunt, who was, I
believe, a contemporary of some of the parties, narrated the
story to me as I give it. This William Bamford had no
offspring save two daughters, and as they could not inherit
the property, when he lay on his death-bed, he sent for my

32

OF MY FOBEFATHEBS. 33

ancestor, and by much entreaty, and many solemn promises,
backed perhaps by a douceur ^ he induced my ancestor to forego
his claim in favour of the young ladies, on condition that at
their decease the property should revert to the next heir in
his family. The entail was accordingly cut off ; Bamford, of
Bamford, made his will and died ; and his daughter, " Madam
Ann," as she was titled, held the property. The other sister
married, and went to reside in Yorkshire ; but Madam Ann
lived and died a spinster at Bamford Hall. And thus,
according to traditionary accounts, were the rightful heirs
cut off from the property, which had descended through their
ancestors from the time when the Saxon wrested it from the
Celt.

My grandfather was Daniel Bamford, the youngest son
of James Bamford. He came to reside at Middleton, and
was a small farmer and weaver. He married Hannah, the
daughter of Samuel Cheetham, who was a watch and clock
maker, and was, consequently, considered something better
in condition than common in those days. My grandfather
had a family of, I believe, six sons and two daughters ; and
Daniel, my father, was the youngest of his children., The
house in which my grandfather lived was situated at Back
o'th' Brow. It was an old timber and daub house, with
thatched roof, low windows, and a porch. I saw it after it
was abandoned and was tottering to its fall. There had been
a garden beside it, but the fences were then tore down, the
beds trampled, and a few stumps of trees, with sprouts of
sweet herbs shooting amongst struggling weeds, marked what
it had been. The door of this ruined dwelling was the first
that opened at Middleton for the reception of Methodist
preachers ; and John and Charles Wesley, John Nelson,
Thomas Taylor, and many of the first promulgators of their
doctrines, had addressed their humble and simple hearers
on the floor of that ruined dwelling. The house stood about
some three score yards from the arched bridge over the Irk,
in the direction towards the Free School, and the cart road
now passes over its site. My grandfather and all his family
had been strict church-goers, but on their joining the Metho-

VOL» I. 3

34 EAELY DAYS,

dists, their attendance at church was less constant than it
had been. The rector one day in conversation with my
grandfather expressed his regret at the change, and wondered
what made him dissatisfied with his reHgion. He replied that
he was not certified as to the state of his soul, nor with the
way in which he was bringing up his family. Why, asked
the rector, what did he desire or expect on the score of
religion? He came regularly to church; he took the sacra-
ment, and paid all dues and oblations ; and what could he do
more ? He thought that my grandfather would scarcely mend
that religion, whatever party he joined. He might consider
himself quite as safe in returning to the church, as he would
be in remaining with his new friends. No argument, however,
could satisfy my grandfather, who had become " convinced of
sin, of righteousness, and of a judgment to come ; " who felt
the necessity of ** justification by faith," of ''saving grace,"
and of " being born again." In short, my grandfather ex-
hibited so much of the " new light," that the worthy pastor,
dazzled, probably, if not illumined, gave up the attempt at
reclamation, and my grandfather and his family remained
Methodists.

Whether or not Madam Ann Bamford, the lady before
mentioned, had given up all thoughts of marriage, or whether
she ever entertained any, does not appear ; but, as if she were
wishful to do some justice to the ancient stock, she came
to my grandfather's house at Middleton, saw his family, and
conversed with them. It was even added, that she expressed
a particular preference for my father, then a child, and pro-
posed to adopt him, and make him her heir, but that my
grandfather, whose views " were not of this world," declined
the lady's offer ; alleging that the possession of wealth would
only lead this child into temptations, and might perhaps cause
the loss of his soul eternally. It was after this incident, as
was said, that Madam Ann directed her attention to another
quarter in search of an heir and successor. Certain it is, that
at her death she willed the estate and property to^a William
Bamford who was not at all of the old stock, but was said
to be descended from a family settled in Staffordshire.

OF MY FOBEFATHEBS, 35

My grandmother, in her mature years, acted as a midwife ;
and herself and another dame a,l HolHnwood were the only
two on this side of the country who then practised the
obstetric art. Surgeons were never called to act in those
days, except in perilous cases ; for wives and mothers of the
humble classes had not as yet become reconciled to a custom
which one cannot but wish should be repugnant to their
private feelings.

My great-grandfather, Samuel Cheetham, was a thorough
" King's man." During the troubles in 1745, he loaded his
gun, and swore he would blow out the brains of any rebel who
interfered with him ; and judging from his conduct on several
other occasions, there is but small reason for supposing he
would not have been as good as his word. On the approach
of the Scottish army towards Manchester, the Assheton family
at Middleton Hall retired into Yorkshire, leaving my pro-
genitor and one trusty servant to secrete the plate and the
other valuables which the family had not had time or con-
venience for carrying with them. These articles were placed
in a chest, and buried by the two confidants in the stable-
court at midnight, the place being afterwards paved and
strewn over with hay seeds. The Scotch army having entered
Manchester, lost not much time in proceeding to ascertain
what good things lay within their reach in the surrounding
districts. Middleton received a speedy visit. My ancestor
and his assistant were' on the premises when a party of
horsemen entered the hall yard, and the commander, leaping
from his steed, flung the reins to the poor waiting-man, who,
on receiving them, sighed deeply. "Hoot, mon ! wot d'ye
sigh for?" asked the Scot, as if he were surprised to hear
such an escape of feeling from an English retainer. ** It's mi
way, sir," replied the servant, meekly taking charge of the
steed. The party having searched the hall, without finding
either money or plate, which they seemed mostly to be in
pursuit of, they came forth to take their departure, when the
officer espying my great-grandfather, demanded of him —
**Waur'sthe heed inn in the toon?" " Gullook 1 " was the
immediate reply. Supposing that he had not been understood,

36 EARLY DAYS.

the question was repeated more distinctly; **I say, mon,
waur's the heed inn in the toon?" ''Gullook!" was as
promptly replied as before ; and in a tone and manner which
left no doubt with respect to the feelings of the individual
who had been questioned. The officer and his party, how-
ever, rode off without stopping to parley with the sturdy
Southron.

At this period, and for some time after, party feeling would
naturally be in a state of exasperation, and but few oppor-
tunities for displaying it would be permitted to pass by the
adherents of either the Stuart or the Guelph. If, as we see,
during evanescent political squabbles, a bitterness is engen-
dered which would, if it could, give a mortal thrust to its
opponent, what must be the deadly hatred of rude minds and
stormy hearts alternately suffering and inflicting irreparable
wrong, when a population are in a state of civil war, when the
sword is made naked avowedly to cut down, to kill, and when
neighbourhood and brotherhood are no longer recognised
except side by side in camp, or in battle? During such a
state of things, many would be the outrages and insults
perpetrated by individuals of each party, when one of the
other happened to come in their way ; and that this zealous
forefather of mine was less overbearing than the rudest, I
have not much reason to suppose. It was customary in those
days for Scotch hawkers to travel slowly and laboriously from
town to town, not affecting the gentleman, as they do at
present, but carrying huge and weighty packs on their backs,
some four feet in length and two or more in depth, as large,
in fact, as a family meal ark, and stored with hosiery, drapery,
and other necessary articles ; tea, coffee, and sugar, not being
then in much use amongst the working classes. These packs
being securely locked, were generally deposited in some con-
venient place — the corner of a street, or the side of a friendly
door — whilst the chapman went round to a few customers
close at hand. Well, my great-grandfather, one day, ere the
exasperation of feeling consequent on the rebellion had spb-
^ided, met one of those useful and self-minding tradesmen,
crossing over the causeway by the mill-doors, at Middleton ;

OF MY FOBEFATHEBS. 87

and laying hold of him, demanded that he should say—
" Deawn wi'th' Bump " (down with the Kump) ; an offensive
phrase signifying, " Down with the Scottish party." The
Scot, of course, would utter nothing of the sort — how was he
likely — and he tried to argue with the unreasonable fellow
who had him in hand, but to no purpose. '* Sithe," said the
latter, *4fto dusno say, 'Deawn wi'th' Kump,' theawst goo yed
fost into that dam ; " pointing to the deep mill-stream just
below them. The Scot still would not : my progenitor griped
him firmer ; and happy should I have been to have recorded
that the traveller had soused him into the water head first.
But it was otherwise. Might overcame right on that occasion,
as it has on others, both before and since; and the traveller,
probably calculating on the loss of time and money which
a regular contest might cause him, said at length, " Weel, if
it mast be so, it mast be so ; doon with the Eamp then." And
so he got rid of his pertinacious opponent.

Whilst this surly and stalwart English Saxon was bearding
the Scottish officer in the hall yard, as before narrated, my
mother's father, Jeffrey Battersby, who was quite his opposite
in person, manner, and sentiment, was with the Pretender's
party at the Boar's Head, assisting them in the collection of
King's taxes, and in the levying of contributions; in which
his local knowledge, and his quick perception, would, doubt-
less, be very useful. He was, when I knew him, a little old
man, with sharp features and ruddy complexion. He wore
a black coat, of the old-fashioned cut of the time ; a waist-
coat and small cloths of the same material ; with black stock-
ings, and silver buckles at the knees, and on the shoes ; on his
head he wore a grizzled full-buttoned wig, and a small square-
set cocked hat. He walked with a quick short step (toes
turned inward), as shoemakers often do; a silver-headed cane
steadied his forward gait, his waistcoat was dusted with snuff,
and a small leathern apron flapped against him as he tripped
on his way.

This quick and lively person, at the time of the appearance
of the rebels, would be about twenty-nine years of age; an
active, lightsome, free-company keeping young fellow, no

38 EABLY DAYS,

doubt. He was a native of Bury, whence he had probably
but recently removed to Middleton, and being an excellent
hand at his boot-making, he was employed by most of the
genteel families in the neighbourhood. The Ashtons of
Alkrington ; the Asshetons of Middleton ; the Eadcliffs of
Foxdenton ; the Hortons of Chadderton ; the Hopwoods of
Hopwood ; the Starkies of Heywood ; and the Bamfords
of Bamford, were each, at that time, living in their own
paternal mansions, and were severally, as their requirements
occurred, the patrons and employers of the young craftsman
at Middleton. He was, consequently, personally well known
to the heads of these old families ; with several of them he
was on such terms of freedom as we find frequently existed
betwixt the old race of gentry and the better sort of their
tenants and tradespeople. Gentlemen then lived as they
ought to live ; as real gentlemen will ever be found living ; in
kindliness with their tenants ; in open-handed charity towards
the poor ; and in hospitality towards all friendly comers.
There were no grinding bailiffs and land- stewards in those
days, to stand betwixt the gentleman and his labourer, or his
tenant ; to screw up rents, to screw down livings, and to invent
and transact all little meannesses for so much per annum.
Mercenaries of this description were not then prevalent on our
Lancashire estates. The gentleman transacted his own busi-
ness ; he met his farmer, or his labourer, face to face. When
he did that which was wrong, he was told of it in unmistakable
language ; or, at any rate, he stood a good chance of being so
told. When he did that which was right — which was noble-
hearted — he got blessings, no doubt, and made friends who
stood by him whilst Hving, and spoke well of him when dead ;
and that is a kind of speaking of which one does not hear
over-much nowadays. There was no racking up of old
tenants ; no rooting out of old cottiers ; no screwing down
of servants' or labourers' wages ; no cutting off of allowances,
either of the beggar at the door, or the visitor at the servants'
hall; no grabbing at waste candle-ends, and musty cheese
parings. Gentlemen were gentlemea indeed; as ladies were
what they pretended to be, — loaf-givers — dispensers of good,

OF MY F0BEFATHEB8, 39

If they lived carefully, they were not mean. If they lived
sumptuously, their waste was scattered at home — on the spot
whence it was derived; and those who toiled to produce it
had the benefit of it. The treasure and all the fatness of the
land was not carried out of the country, to be wasted and
thrown away Uke dust, in the pride and big-babyism of courtly
life, nor in the brothels and gambhng hells of London, Paris,
or other Babylon of the world.

At such a time, and amongst such a race of English gentle-
men, was it the lot of this my grandsire to be cast. He was
an agreeable person to converse with; droll, witty, and a
rhymster also ; and as he had not much disinclination to a
pipe and a jack of ale, he was frequently, when he went with
his work home, called from the servants' hall into the parlour,
where his budget of wit, verse, and country news, made him a
welcome guest. It will not be presuming too much, if we
suppose that some of the gentry of those days were imbued
with Jacobitical principles ; and to such, in their moments of
conviviality and confidence, the following verse, which I have
heard sung as one of my grandfather's productions, would no
doubt be responded to.

'* Jammy sits upon the throne ;
He bears the gowden sceptre ;
He is the darlin' of our hearts ;
He is our right protector.
Ween tak' yon cuckud by his hums,
An' poo him deawn to Dover ;
An' stuff him full o' turmit-tops,
An' pack him to Hanover."

In joining the Pretender, and taking the active part he had
done, my grandfather had sinned too far to be slightly passed
over. On the retreat of the Scottish army, and the reinstate-
ment of the former authority, he was denounced with many
others ; was arrested, and placed in Lancaster Castle for trial
on a charge of high treason. Happy was it then for him that
he had made friends of some influential persons, and that
neither his ready genius nor his friends forsook him. Many
of his fellow-prisoners were taken out of their cells for trial ;

40 EABLY DAYS.

and trial was then almost synonymous with conviction, con-
viction with death. At last it was his turn to be called, and
they called him, but the man was raving mad ; and the keepers
stood aghast, not knowing what to do with the lunatic. He
had been expecting his trial from day to day, and had acted
his part accordingly; and on the morning on which he was
certified it would take place, he thumped his elbow against the
bedstead until his pulse beat a hundred and sixty a-minute,
and the doctor, on his being sufficiently coerced, and ascer-
taining that such was his actual condition, declared that he
could not be tried. He was consequently passed over, some
poor fellow thus meeting his doom before the time, and when
the next jail delivery took place, his friends at Middleton and
the neighbourhood had so far used their influence that he was
amongst those discharged by proclamation. He returned
home, probably somewhat wiser for his mad fit, but certainly
to take his pipe and potation ; to write squibs, satires, and
rhymes ; and to make the best boots and shoes in the whole
country side. Years rolled over him ; the blithe young fellow
became mellowed down into the more sedate head of a family,
though he had always a fund of wit and humour at command.
At the age of seventy-eight, he was the little old man I have
described; and in the year ninety- six came the finale to all
his fancies. He died in the eighty-first year of his age, and
was interred in the old yard at Middleton Church. Such were
the men and women from whom I derived my being. The
rebel blood, it would seem, after all, was the more impulsive ;
it got the ascendency — and I was born a Eadical.

CHAPTEB III.

OF MIDDLETON, AT THE TIME I HAVE BEEN WRITING

ABOUT.

Eeader, having thus described to thee the persons, and con-
ditions, and habits of my forefathers, it may not be going too
far from my personal history, if I give thee an idea of the sort
of place Middleton was at the time they inhabited it. Begin-
ning with the church, thou must know that externally it was
much in the same state as at present. Internally, the chapel
of the Asshetons would be somewhat different. The staircase
mounting to that piece of " pride " in a place of " humility,"
the Suffield's pew, did not then cover up and obscure the
grave-stone of Colonel Assheton, who commanded the Parlia-
mentary forces of Lancashire during the Civil War of the
Commonwealth. The monument of " Old Sir Eaphe," the last ,
of the Asshetons of Middleton, was not then in existence, nor
were the pennons and flag-staffs, the sword, helmet, and spurs,
which always accompany the last of an ancient house to the
grave, then suspended in that chapel. Those unsightly things,
the pews, more like show-cribs than anything else, a modern
invention of sordid pride, lest a poor woman's kirtle should by
chance touch a '* fine lady's " gown, were not then cumbering
and disfiguring either this chapel, or the body of the church.
The whole floor was strewn wwh rushes in winter ; and the
whole congregation sat on plain oaken benches, the poor and
the rich faring alike in the presence of that Being to whom
they were taught to pray — *' From all blindness of heart ;

42 EABLY DAYS.

from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy ; from envy, hatred, and
malice ; Good Lord, deliver us."

The appearance of the chancel v^as also much different
from its present one. A large window with open traceries
shed a cheerful and plenteous light on the communion-table,
which was surrounded by a curious and quaint-looking oaken
railing of spiral staves, carved from the solid piece. The said
window then exhibited in its lower compartment, the arms
and crests, in stained glass, which now adorn the side
windows. Where the benches now stand, were large oaken
pews, with carvings and quaint devices. The stalls were in
their present state ; and the Archer, the Haughton, and the
Tetlow monuments, were not on the walls. In a window of
the northern aisle was a representation of a band of archers
kneeling, each with his bow on his shoulder, his quiver at his
breast, and his name above his head ; tradition representing
them as parishioners who were slain at the battle of Flodden
Field, under the command of the Black Knight, who won his
spurs that day. This emblazonment is now placed in one of
the side windows of the chancel, a situation where it certainly
is more likely to be preserved than in its former one. There
was not then an organ in the singer's gallery ; a tall arch,
with zig-zag tracery, sprung from antique pillars at the base
of the steeple, and spanned high above the heads of choristers
and musicians. A large and bold emblazonment of the Eoyal
arms, with the initials *' A. R." at the two upper corners, and
the motto, " Semper eadem," at the bottom, hung in front of
the singers' gallery. On the walls betwixt the aisles hung
several large tablets containing lists of benefactions to the
poor, which have recently been removed to more fitting places.
The font then stood beneath the said gallery : the pulpit, a
plain oaken one, was placed against the centre pillar on the
north side of the middle aisle ; and the congregation, as I
before said, were arranged on seats, their feet in the rushes ;
and neither hassocks, nor foot-boards, nor lolling cushions,
were then deemed indispensable to a becoming discharge of
religious duties. The galleries, on neither side, would pro-
bably then be placed ; nor would that piece of gim-crackery,

MIDDLETON. 43

the painted and pannelled pew, be stuck out above, more like
a garish ball-room than a place for repentance and humilia-
tion. But this has also passed away.

Outside of the yard wall, towards the north, stood an old
thatched timber and daub house, which one entered down a
step, through a strong low door with a wooden latch. This
was " Old Joe Wellins's," the church alehouse, a place par-
ticularly resorted to by rough fellows when they had a mind
to a private drinking bout. The sacred edifice itself is dedi-
cated to Saint Leonard, the patron of thieves, and whether
or not thieves and outlaws felt more assured than common
under the wing, as it were, of their saint, it was a current tra-
dition in my younger days, that more than one of *' the gentle-
men roadsters" who lived by levying contributions on the
northern highways, made it his "boozing ken," or place of
concealment and repose after their foraging expeditions :
Nevison and Tm^pin were especially mentioned as having
frequented this house. When this old building was pulled
down several curious antique coins were found ; of what date
no one who saw them could tell. On the other side of the
church, the space which is now occupied as a burial-ground,
was a large and excellent bowling-green, which was much fre-
quented by the idle fellows of the village, who preferred ale-
bibbing in the sun before confinement on the loom or at the
lap-stone. At last it was broken up and the games put a stop
to, chiefly, it was said, because the late steward under the Suf-
fields could not, when he resorted to the place, overawe, or
keep the rustic frequenters in such respectful bounds as he
wished to do : and from this statement I cannot withhold my
belief ; for it was just such an action as those who knew him
would expect from the man.

The bridge over the Irk, at Back-o'th'-Brow, was a wooden
one with hand rails. On the other side of the stream, on the
right hand, were three or four thatched cottages, in the usual
style; a barn and shippon stood on the left; whilst the Irk itself,
then a stream like crystal, rippled and dimpled away over a
channel of smooth sand beds, and dark gravel mingled with
white pebbles which, like drops of unmelted snow, lay shim-

44 EABLY DAYS.

mering beneath the ripples. Trout were to be found then in
the dark old stockholes, where the water was deep and quiet ;
and loaches lay basking and wallowing their green backs
scarcely distinguishable from the dark pebbles.

Owler Bridge, which a little further eastward crosses another
branch of the Irk, was to be much dreaded. The field along
which the path lay betwixt Back-o'th'-Brow and Owler Bridge,
was said to be thronged by spirits, whilst "fairees" were fre-
quently seen dancing and gambolling on the bridge, and the
bank of the stream on either side. Woe to the wight or the
wean, who had to pass that way on a starless windy night !
My father, when a boy, went to take lessons from a wise-man
at Hilton-fold, and consequently he had to traverse the haunted
field, and to pass the perilous bridge ; but he seldom forgot
to hum a psalm or hymn tune whilst on his way. It was
rumoured that a murder had been committed in that field, and
if a strange looking bone was found, it was supposed to have been
one belonging to the murdered person. A dreaded place was that.

The Free Grammar School was also a haunted place. The
endowment, for those days, was liberal, and the establishment
possessed an extensive reputation. Gentlemen's sons, from
many parts of the country, were sent to Middleton to receive
their education preparatory to going to college. Some, around
the neighbourhood, came to school on ponies, which in summer
time they turned into the paddock opposite the school, until at
night they were again mounted to return home. Some of these
youths were wild and reckless, no doubt ; and others were said
to be more " deeply learned " than the master supposed them
to be. On one occasion when they had the school to them-
selves, they set about raising the devil ; and after a due course
of conjuration the '* dark being " appeared, and stamping a
hole into a flag with his foot — the mark of which was
shown in my days — he asked what they wanted. The con-
jurers, being terrified, wished him to retire as quietly as he
came, but that he would not do, so they then demanded that
he should make a rope out of the sand which lay in the sand-
bed at the foot of the church-bank, and he was busy at the
work, when the head master fortunately came, and with the

MIDDLE TON, 45

highest ceremonial dii^missed him and saved the scholars,
whom he fain would have taken, whereupon he became so
enraged, that he flew away in a flash of fire, breaking down
an entire window, and part of the wall of the school. The
school was conducted by a head master and an usher ; the
former generally teaching at the northern end, and the latter
at the southern one. It was also customary for each to reside
in a spacious chamber over the part of the school in which he
taught, to which chamber access was gained up a flight of
wooden stairs, by a door at the back, and through a dark place
with which the scholars were wont to associate many super-
stitious terrors. One of these head masters was a Mr. Dean,
a curate, who on a certain day, as the story narrated, on en-
tering his room at the noon-hour of dismissal, met a clergyman
in full canonicals, with a book open in his hand as if he were
going to read a funeral service. The appearance passed Mr.
Dean, who, in great surprise, turned and looked at it. It went
out at the door, and apparently towards the stairs, but on Mr.
Dean's returning to watch it down, it was not to be seen, nor
could anything whatever be heard of any such person having
been seen by others about the place. Mr. Dean took it as a
warning to himself, and soon afterwards he sickened and died.
The school-lane was also haunted by an apparition which came
sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another. Two men,
it was said, of adverse parties met here during the Civil
Wars, when one killed the other, and the deceased's spirit
had ever since haunted the place.

Stanichffe was frequented by a demon which has but very
recently quitted his haunt. At an old gloomy looking house,
— partly of timber and partly of brick work, — situated on the
brow of the hill, and looking, as it were, over the rindle
towards Boarshaw, lived, during the Civil Wars, one of the
Hopwood retainers, named Blomoley. He would seem to
have been a man of ferocious disposition, since his name has
been handed down in traditions, the fearfulness of which time
has not diminished. Several men he was said to have wan-
tonly put to death with his own hand, during those lawless
periods ; one he shot on his farm yard, and the bullet, after

46 EABLY DAYS.

quitting the man's body, passed through two of his own barn
doors. Ever after, until a comparatively recent date, the house
and premises he occupied were haunted by " fyerin " (boggarts
or apparitions) which came sometimes in the form of a calf,
sometimes in that of a huge black dog, and sometimes in the
human form, but hideous and terrible. A heavy nailed door,
which was hung in such a manner that it shut to with violence,
would at times open of itself before a stranger, or one of the
family. A dog, or a calf, would at times trot along the passage
before a person seeking admittance ; the door would open
wide ; the person would enter the dwelling part, but nothing
could be seen or heard of the mysterious appearance. At the
dead of night, sounds would be heard as if persons were hold-
ing a conversation in whispers ; doleful cries would break forth,
or a crash would resound as if every piece of crockery in the
dwelling was broken, when, in the morning, everything would
be found in its place. I am not saying that I credit these ac-
counts, but they were certainly narrated to me by one who had
lived in the building during many years : one who could not
gain anything by stating that which he did not believe to be
true ; and whose account was furthermore subsequently cor-
roborated by another of the same family. It was even added,
and confirmed in like manner, that other members of the
family, besides the narrator, whilst sitting by the fire at night,
had seen the cream-mug, or the drink bottle, move from the
hearth to the hob, or from the hob to the hearth, without any
visible being touching the vessels. Other things in the house
were also frequently shifted, but nothing was ever broken; and
the noises, appearances, and displacements, at length became
so little thought of, that the common observation would be,
*' Oh ! it's nobbut Owd Blomoley ; " or, *' Th' owd lad's agate
agen." The house subsequently underwent some alteration,
and about fourteen years ago it was pulled down, and another
was rebuilt on its site ; since which time, I have not heard of
any disturbance at the place. The clough or dingle at the base
of the meadow on which the house stood, retains the name
of ''Blomoley Cloof."

The noticing of these supposed supernatural appearances

MIDDLE TON. 47

may seem puerile to some readers. The suppositions in them-
selves may be so ; but taken in connection with, and affecting
as they did, in a degree, the minds and manners of the rural
population of the period, they are of more consequence than
may at the first glance be apparent.. At all events, in giving
an account of a place and its inhabitants in past times, one
cannot well refrain from alluding to whatever might have in-
fluenced their actions, any more than one can remain silent
with respect to the actions themselves. I will, therefore, once
for all mention, that but few of the lonely, out-of-the-way
places — the wells, the bye-paths, the dark old lanes, the
solitary houses — escaped the reputation of being haunted.
" Boggarts," " fyerin," '* witches," ** fairees," '* clap-cans,"
and such like beings of terror, were supposed to be lurking in
almost every retired corner, or sombre-looking place ; whence
they come forth at their permitted hours, to enjoy their noc-
turnal freedom. Euffian Lane — the old road to Hopwood Hall
— was one of these haunted places : haunted once, as its name
would purport, by less harmless beings than *' boggarts." Afoot-
path, leading through certain fields belonging to the ** Black
Bull" public-house, was notoriously the resort of "fyerin'
(spirits) : and here, indeed, there was reason to be shown why
it should be so, since that ominous and awe-creating plant,
Saint John's Wort, grew there in its pale, feathery pride. The
present road — then a retired one, and overshadowed by a tall
hedge and spreading trees — which leads from the bottom of
Church Street to the Free School, was then nightly traversed
by the appearance of a large four-footed animal, sometimes in
the likeness of a dog or a bear, with great glaring eyes ; at
other times it would start up like a beautiful child, and moving
before to a certain place, would disappear. The churchyard
could not, of course, be free from supernatural appearances ;
and of the few who ventured through it after night-fall — the
road then leading that way — not many left it whose hair was
not standing on end. The path leading from the southern
steps of the churchyard, down to the *' Gypsy Croft" and the
highway, was another haunt of these appearances ; whilst the
solitary footpath, which led from the same steps along the

48 EABLY DAYS.

Warren, beneath the tall elms and sycamores, past the lonely-
summer-house, and down the wooded bank to the highway,
seems to have been a favourite promenade to the beings of
another world.

The Eectory was then an old irregular-looking edifice, built
partly of brick and partly of stone, with a moat around it,
and shot holes in the walls for musketry or cross-bows. The
present unsightly brick wall, fronting the highway, was not
then in existence. In place of it was a green sod rampart,
planted with hawthorns and hedge-shrubs, which were pro-
tected by a low neat palisading, so that passengers, whilst
walking under the beech trees, could enjoy a look at the fields,
and into the shrubberies skirting the garden. Gentlemen in
those days were not afraid, it would seem, of the poor man or
woman enjoying a look through their hedges, nor catching a
sweet wind-waft of their rosebuds, or apple-bloom, as they
travelled the droughty dusty high-road.

The old Hall was perhaps one of the finest relics of the sort
in the county. It was built of plaster and framework, with
panels, carvings, and massy beams of black oak, strong enough
for a mill floor. The yard was entered through a low wicket,
at a ponderous gate ; the interior of the yard was laid with
small diamond- shaped flags ; a door led on the left into a large
and lofty hall, which was hung round with matchlocks, swords,
targets, and hunting weapons, intermingled with trophies of
the battle-field and the chase. But all disappeared before the
spirit of Vandalism which commenced with the Harboard
accession to the property, and their transference of power to
one whose chief thought seemed to be how he might by any
means increase the amount of remittances to his employer.
Not a vestige of the edifice now remains. The exact site is at
present unoccupied, but is understood to be let for the erection
of a cotton-mill. A couple of factories and a gasworks are
already close to the spot. The great oaken barn, before men-
tioned, and a cottage or two, and a remnant of the stabling,
are the only vestiges remaining on the place. And so passes
the vain stability of this world.

Having thus, as it were, led the reader, not only into the

\ MIDDLE TON. 49

presence of my later ancestors, but also into the country
which they inhabited, giving him glimpses of the manners,
legends, and superstitions of those days, and thereby enabling
him to perceive the great change which has come over the
inhabitants of these parts, as well as over the country itself —
having thus, in a measure, discharged a duty to some who are
no more, and to scenes and things which have departed with
them, I may, with a less divided retrospection, take up the
narrative of my own life, and to that task — craving the reader's
kind indulgence — I now address myself. ^

V .

VOL. I.

4

CHAPTEK IV.

EARLY IMPRESSIONS — MIDDLETON REFORMERS — MEETING AT

ROYTON — DENIAL OF JUSTICE.

Many of the earliest of my impressions were calculated to
make me feel, and think, and reflect, and thus I became,
imperceptibly, as it were, and amidst all the exuberant
lightsomeness of childhood, impressible and observant.
The notice I took of my mother's anguish and her tears (as
before mentioned), whilst it made me hateful of all wrong— .
hateful so far as my young heart could be so — disposed me, at
the same time, to be pitiful towards all suffering. It was the
means of calling into action two of the strongest and most
durable impulses of my heart — justice and mercy. Hence I
was, in my infantile degree, a friend to every living being that
suffered wrong, and an enemy to, or rather a disliker of, every ,
living being that inflicted it. The cause of the unfortunate
was mine own cause, from that of the crushed worm, which I
put aside from my path, to that of the more noble animals, the
dog, the steer, and the horse, when they suffered outrage at
the hand of ruthless man. Everything which could not plead
its own cause had a pleader in my heart. The horse had an
especial one, inasmuch, probably, as whatever pain he might
suffer, the expression of it was almost denied to him. The
dog could howl, the steer could bellow, but the noble horse
was mutely endurant ; and these impulses, notwithstanding
all that reason, and convenience, and necessity, as we term
our palliatives, have at times suggested, and would still
suggest, I never could put aside, never could subdue. So in

GO

EARLY IMPRESSIONS. ' 51

his instance again, '* Out of the eater came forth meat " ; out
)f the evil came forth goodness.

The first book which attracted my particular notice was
* The Pilgrim's Progress," with rude woodcuts ; it excited
ny curiosity in an extraordinary degree. There was *' Chris-
)ian knocking at the strait gate," his " fight with ApoUyon,"
lis ** passing near the lions," his ** escape from Giant Despair,"
lis perils at " Vanity Fair," his arrival in " the land of Beulah,"
md his final passage to ** Eternal Best " ; all these were matters
[or the exercise of my feeling and my imagination. And then,
pvhen it was explained to me, as it was by my mother and my
sister, how that Christian was a godly man, who left his wife,
Eind his children, and all he had in the world, to go forth and
seek the blessed land afar off; and that, through many trials,
and perils, and hardships, he arrived at that land, and entered
another life, never to return ; that his wife and family, in
bopes of joining him, also left their home and journeyed the
same weary and perilous way, my heart was filled with pleasing,
yet melancholy impressions. The whole pilgrimage was to me
a story mournfully soothing, like that of a light coming from
an eclipsed sun.

Others of my early impressions were also of a saddening
nature, and I mention them, not because I would be under-
stood to have been less joyous and play some than were other
children of my age — for I was probably quite as much so as
the generality of my playmates were — but because, with me,
the bright moments are but dimly remembered now, whilst the
more sombre impressions remain distinctly present as I now
write. The reader, however, need not be afraid of my drawing
a totally darksome picture ; there may be some strong clouding
here and there. There must be if truth and nature are adhered
to, and from them we assuredly will not depart.

And now came to myself and my childish playmates strange
and alarming rumours of a dreadful war. *' The war," we
heard, was coming afar off ; the French people were bringing
it, and ''the war" would come to Middleton, and kill all the
fathers, and mothers, and children that it could find. This
was a sad prospect to me, and I pondered it over until I hit

52 E ABLY DAYS.

on a scheme which I thought would avert the danger. This
was that I and all our family, at least, should hide in the
wooden coal-shed at the Free Grammar School, and there I
was quite certain '' the war " could never find us.

One incident of my childhood will serve to show the sort of
daily, fireside education which my parents bestowed on their
children. I mention it to their honour, and not from a wish
to claim any precocity of intellect, which indeed I did not
possess. I was probably about three years of age when some
one made me a present of a little tin can, as a plaything, and
to sup my porridge and milk from. I slept with Sally Owen,
a young woman who, having been left an orphan and brought
up in my grandfather's family, was now living more as a sister
than as a servant with my uncle Thomas. Well, this little
tin can nothing could prevail on me to part from, and I was
allowed to take it with me to bed. Probably Sally Owen would
find it a rather sharp article to turn upon at night. However
that were, when I awoke in the morning Sally Owen was gone, .
and my little bright plaything was gone also. I then cried
out, and when the kind-hearted creature came to the bedside,
I learned from her replies that she had taken my can, and that
if I was not a good boy I must not have it any more. So,
looking in her face, I said, '' Sally, whot dus Katekiss say?"
" Say? why wot dus it say? " asked Sally. " Dus it no say,
thou shalt not steal?" "Aye, it dus," replied Sally, *' an'
wotbi that?" "Well, then," was my rejoinder, "thou shalt*
not steal my little can." Her tender eyes were brimming full ;
she snatched me out of bed, gave me my little can, and took
me to my mother, who also shed tears of joy when she heard
what I had said. " Oh I " she would sometimes ejaculate,
" theaw shud habin kess'nt Jeffrey or Daniel."

My father, as before stated, was a reader, and amongst
other books which he now read was Paine 's " Rights of Man."
He also read Paine's "Age of Reason," and his other theolo-
gical works, but they made not the least alteration in his
religious opinions. Both he and my uncle had left the society
of Methodists, but to the doctrines of John Wesley they con-
tinued adherents so long as they lived. At the commencement

MIDDLETON BEFOBMEBS. 53

of the French Bevolution a small band only of readers and
inquirers after truth was to be found in Middleton. They
were called "Jacobins " and " Painites," and were treated with
much obloquy by such of their bigoted neighbours as could not
or would not understand that other truths existed in the world
than " were dreamt of in their philosophy." This band of
thinkers included Edmund Johnson, a druggist and apothe-
cary ; Jacob Johnson, his brother, a weaver and herb doctor ;
Simeon Johnson, another brother, weaver; Samuel Ogden,
shoemaker ; Thomas Bamford, my uncle ; and Daniel, my
father. They met at each other's houses to read such of the
current publications as their small means allowed them to
obtain, and to converse on the affairs of the nation, and other
political subjects. They were also supporters of Parliamentary
Keform, as it was then advocated by the Duke of Kichmond,
Mr. Pitt, and other distinguished characters. This notice will
explain the rancour which they had to endure, some traits of
which I shall proceed to describe.

One Middleton wakes, as I remember, I, a mere child, sat
on the steps of my father's dwelling, watching the holiday
folks draw their rush-carts towards the church. They went
close past our door ; very grand and gaudy the drawers and
carts were, with ribbons, and streamers, and banners, and
garlands, and silver ornaments, and morrice bells, and other
music, quite joyous and delightful. At length came a cart
more richly decked than others, on the flake of which behind
was placed the figure of a man, which I thought was a real
living being. A rabble which followed the cart kept throwing
stones at the figure, and shouting, " Tum Paine a Jacobin ! "
"Tum Paine a thief ! " ** Deawn wi' o' th' Jacobins! " " Deawn
wi' th' Painites ! " whilst others with guns and pistols kept
discharging them at the figure. They took care to stop when
they came to the residence of a reformer ; the shouting and the
firing were renewed, and then they moved on. Poor Paine
was thus shot in effigy on Saturday, repaired, re-embellished,
and again set upright on Sunday, and " murdered out-and-out "
on Monday, being again riddled with shot, and finally burned.
I, of course, became a friend of Thomas Paine's. Such was

54 EABLY DAYS.

one of the modes of annoyance and persecution to which the^
few who dared be honest were subjected by the sires and
grandsires of the present race of reforming Englishmen. But
this was perfect amenity compared with what took place at
Royton.

That village was in those days looked upon as the chief
resort of Jacobins on that side of Manchester. A few clever,
sensible men lived there also, as well as at Middleton, but
those of Royton would seem to have taken more active measures
for the promotion of reform than did others living in the neigh-
bouring districts. I well remember, in the dolorous days of
ninety-two, or three, a small band from Royton perambulating
our secluded nook of the town, and singing a piece, one verse
of which was as follows : —

" Our masters play us roguish pranks ;
Our bankrupt bankers close their banks ;
Which makes our wives and children cry.
But times shall alter by and by."

One forenoon we were alarmed by the appearance of men
armed with thick cudgels and bludgeons, who passed by our
house in groups, swearing and threatening what they would
do at the '' Painites " when they returned. They came from
Ringley and Radcliffe, and other places ; desperate and ruthless
men they seemed, and we children were so terrified that we
crept into the hen-roost as a place of the greatest safety.
Many eventful hours of anxious expectation succeeded ; my
father did not remove his family, but I believe he made pre-
parations for self-defence if attacked. The ruffians, however,
returned past our house without offering any serious molesta-
tion, my father not being a man slightly to be put aside ; my
uncle also being at hand. Not so, however, did the scoundrels
withhold from poor Samuel Ogden ; for there they broke open
his door, pulled him out of the house, broke his windows and
some furniture, and maltreated his person ; for none of which
outrages did the law ever afford him any satisfaction. The
occasion on which these brutes were let loose in the country,
was as follows.

MEETING AT BOYTON. 65

On the 21st of April, 1794, a public meeting, for the pro-
motion of Parliamentary Eeform, was appointed to be held
at Thorpe, near Eoyton. It was called by a few friends to
reform who were correspondents of the society in London ; '•'
and the purpose of the originators of the meeting was to get
a petition adopted, praying Parliament to grant an amend-
ment in the representation of the people. Previous to the
commencement of the proceedings, a number of well-wishers
to' the cause, who had come from a distance, together with
several promoters of the meeting, were assembled at *' The
Light Horseman " public-house, in Eoyton Lane. They were
taking refreshments, and arranging the proceedings, when a mob
of several hundred people, led up by one Harrop, of Barrow-
shaw, an atrocious ruffian, came in front of the house, and
with shouts of " Church an* King for ever I '* '' Deawn wi' th'
Jacobins ! " began to smash the windows, and break open the
doors. As many of the mob were armed with clubs and
staves, and there was a supply of stones in the lane, the few
inside could neither make effectual resistance to their
entrance, nor defend themselves from violence. The mob
broke everything down before them. The windows were
smashed ; the doors and shutters were kicked into splinters.
The loyal sign of the old pensioner was torn down ; every
article of furniture was broken ; the glasses, jugs, and other
vessels, were dashed on the floor, and trampled under foot ;
the bar was gutted ; the cellars were entered, and the ale and
liquors were drunk or poured on the floor ; and such being
the violence committed on the property, it may be supposed
that the obnoxious persons would not be suffered to escape.
Oh, no ! — this was a real ** Church and King mob," and was
too faithful to its employers to suffer the " Painites " to escape
without punishment. Whilst some of the brutes were
guzzling, and others were breaking furniture, others again
were beating, and kicking, and maltreating in various ways
the persons found in the house. Several of these were lamed ; ,
others were seriously crushed and injured in their persons.

* The Corresponding Society formed in 1792 for the promotion of
Parliamentary Keform.

56 \ EARLY DAYS.

The constables of the place had been called upon by the
peaceably disposed inhabitants to act, but they declined to
interfere, and the mob had their own way. Mr. Pickford, of
Eoyton Hall, a magistrate, never made his appearance, though
he lived within a few score yards of the scene of riot, and was
supposed to have been at home all the time during which the
outrage was perpetrated. He was afterwards known as Sir
Joseph Eatcliffe, of Milnes Brig, in Yorkshire. Such of the
Keformers as had the good fortune to escape out of the house,
ran for their Uves, and sought hiding-places wherever they
could be found ; whilst the parson of the place, whose name
was Berry, standing on an elevated situation, pointed them
out to the mob, saying — "There goes one; and there goes
one ! " ** That's a Jacobin ; that's another ! " and so continued
until his services were no longer effectual. A few stout-
hearted reformers who had possession of one part of the
house would not be beaten like children ; they retaliated
blow for blow, and kick for kick, until the cowards who
assailed them were fain to pause. The strife outside was then
nearly over, and these few reformers consented, at length, to
go with their assailants before the magistrate above mentioned.
About half a score of reformers, in the whole, were conducted
as prisoners to Eoyton Hall, where they were placed in a
stable, and treated with every contumely, until the great man
was ready to receive them. They were then shown into his
presence, and were ultimately held in bail to appear at
Lancaster, to answer a charge of rioting. At the August
assizes, the case was traversed ; and in the spring assizes of
1795, the Grand Jury having " found a true bill," the
" rioters " were arraigned ; but as the fourth witness for the
prosecution was under examination, the judge stopped the
trial, and the defendants were discharged. The reformers
caused bills of indictment to be presented to the Grand
Jury, against a number of the real rioters; but, as in the
case of the later affair in Manchester, the same Grand
Jury which could find true bills against the unoffending
people, could not find any bills against the guilty parties.
The persons who had been so shamefully maltreated could

' V

■ DENIAL OF JUSTICE, 57

not obtain any redress at law ; even the poor old soldier,
whose house had been broken into and plundered in open sun-
light, never received compensation. Everything he had in the
world was destroyed or carried away ; he was a ruined man,
and a ruined man he remained to the end of his days.
Such was a specimen of '' Justice of the Peace " justicing, of
"Church and King Parsons" parsoning; and of ''Grand
Juries " jurying, in the blessed times of 1794 ! With such an
example as this on the records of the county, need we wonder
at what took place in 1819 ?

CHAPTEE V.

•• Straight is the lane that has never a turning :
Long is the joy that has never a mourning."

It must have been when I was in the sixth year of my age,
that one day as I was rolling on the floor with my younger
brother and sister, we were surprised and checked by the
appearance of a good-looking, fresh complexioned gentleman,
who asked for my father. My mother respectfully attended
on the visitor, and my father was called up from his loom in
the cellar where he was at work. My father, my mother, and
the gentleman had some conversation, after which my father
put on his better coat and hat, and went out with the gentle-
man to the place, as I have since understood, where his .horse
was put up. My father returned, after being absent a short
time, and I recollect well, having noticed a change in the look
and manner of both my parents, my mother frequently ap-
plying her apron to her eyes, whilst my father was quite
cheerful. The visitor who had caused this change was one of
the churchwardens for the township of Manchester, and his
business at our house was to induce my father to undertake the
management of a manufactory of cotton goods at the work-
house for that township. The terms offered were such as my
father accepted, and on a day appointed, after appearing
before the board of parish officers, and being by them approved
of, the agreement was ratified, and my father thence-forward
applied sedulously to his new avocation, sleeping at the work-
house, boarding at the governor's table, during the week days,
and spending his Saturday evenings and his Sundays with his
family at home. He must have discharged the duties of his

58

UNCLE THOMAS. 59

office in a manner which gave satisfaction, inasmuch as some-
time after his appointment, he became governor of the work-
house, and my mother governess ; my uncle Thomas at the
same time being appointed to succeed my father in the manu-
factory.

And now, with respect to that beloved relation, let me say a
word. He was to all the children of his brother a second
father, whilst to their father he was a true brother indeed. A
provident counsellor in adversity, what his head advised his
hand would assist to effect. In temper he was equable and
calm ; steadfast in purpose, and unbendingly upright in his
dealings. His religion was that of a devout, but unostenta-
tious ^Christian, and his outward ceremonial of it was that of
John Wesley. In stature he was tall, and of a powerful
solidity, whilst the clothed appearance of his person and
limbs, indicated symmetry united with the fastness of great
strength. His features were such as are generally deemed
handsome, their expression was. indicative of a calm, thought-
ful, and benevolent mind. His complexion was that of raven
dark ; and his black glossy hair hung slightly curling over the
front of his shoulders. Eeader, hast thou ever beheld a half-
length '' Salvator Mundi," by Bartolozzi ? If thou hast — and
deem me not impious, for the engraving itself is but the idea
of a human genius — if thou hast seen such engraving, then hast
thou beheld as good a likeness as could be drawn of the
features of my ever- dear uncle Thomas. And, with such a
wife as I have described my mother to be ; with such a
brother as this, and with five healthy, joysome children, did
my father wend his way from Middleton, and take up his
abode in his new situation at Manchester.

This was to us a vast and surprising change in life. At our
little country home, everything was conducted in that plain
thrifty way, by means of which a good house-wife renders her
cottage so comfortable, and her family so well provided, out
of comparatively very small incomings. Our fare was of the
simplest kind, and far from profuse, whilst our clothing,
though cleanly and well mended, was such as would raise a
smile amongst the mothers of these days ; big boys, as well as

60 . EARLY DAYS.

big girls, very frequently wearing their infantile skirts until
they became kilts, and those too not of the longest. Then,
in summer days, we spent much of our time out of doors,
digging holes in the sand, or making little gardens and houses
in the hollows amongst the fern, or on the green banks of the
Irk where the sweet willows, and the hazels, and gorses
formed natural harbours, sheltering us from the passing
showers. Or we would form wading parties, and a dozen of
us together, big girls and boys, taking the little ones on our
backs, would thus go wading up the stream, maybe laying
hold of a trout now and then, or bringing up a few loaches :
or we would go a bird-nesting, or a moss-gathering, to deck
our peace-egg baskets ; or a primrose -plucking towards Little-
green and " Owd Hall-cloof," until, when we turned home —
our cheeks brown and ruddy, bare-footed, bare-legged, bare-
headed, and bare-necked — our milk and bread, or our meal of
solid dumpling, was, to us, a repast so entirely delicious, that
of anything more excellent we could not form an idea. Then
in schooling, I learned the alphabet from my father at his
loom ; I afterwards went a short time to the parish clerk at the
Free School, but I learned not anything there ; I was not, at that
age, quick at imbibing instruction. On Sundays I went with
the bigger children to the chapel school, which was next door
to our house, until another was built on the road to Boarshaw,
but neither did I profit by my Sunday tuition. On Sunday
evenings we often sang hymns ; and we always said our
prayers before going to bed. At meals my father never
omitted asking a blessing before we partook the food, nor did
he omit returning thanks afterwards. Bending reverently
forward, and with his hands clasped, he would say, ** Merciful
God ! bless this food to our temporal use, and sanctify our-
selves to Thy service, for Christ's sake."" In returning thanks
he would say, '' Lord ! for the blessing we have received at
Thy hands, accept our thanks, for Christ's sake." And these
devout customs were continued so long as the family remained
together.

But now we had entered a far different scene of life. My
parents and the younger part of the family removed first to

MY FIB8T. JOURNEY, 61

Manchester, leaving myself and a brother at Middleton until
some clothes which the tailor was making were finished. In
a few days my father came for us, and leading me by the
hand, I went trotting by his side, full of busy imaginings, and
asking all kinds of questions about " the great town," and

- "the big house," I was going to live at. The sound of the
old church '•'' bell came booming through the closing day, as
we hastened across Smedley fields ; and I thought I never
heard so deep a tone in all my life. Next we passed over
" The Butter-style," and turned on our left, a vast gloom
darkening before us as we advanced. Then we heard the
rumbling of wheels, and the clang of hammers, and a hubbub
of confused sounds from workshops and manufactories. As
we approached the *' Mile-house," human shouts and cries in
the streets became distinguishable ; and on the top of Eed
Bank, the glare of many lights, and faint outhnes of buildings
in a noisy chaos below, told us we beheld Manchester. We
descended the hill, and the lamps which were burning in the
Mill-gate excited my attention, whilst the huge pile of the old
church — blackest amidst the blackness — inspired me with

. feelings of disquietude and wonder. The Irwell darkly rolled
towards our feet, whilst, on our right, the walls and pinnacles
of the old Baron's Hall t were dimly visible ; and before us,
washing the base of the ancient edifice, huipried another stream ;
my father, pointing towards it, told us it was the same which
whimpled so brightly and merrily past our door at Middleton.
I looked over the battlement, wishing to behold it as I would
a dear companion, but it was lost in the darkness, and a
slight murmur was the only response to my fond regret. After
proceeding a short distance, we began to ascend a brow. My
father knocked at a gate ; a bolt was presently shot back, and
we proceeded along a flagged walk, until we came to a flight
of steps, when my father opening a folding door, we entered
a large hall, flashing with light, and before we had time to

* The present Cathedral.

t Purchased in 1654 by the trustees of Humphrey Chetham, for the pur-
pose of founding the Chetham Hospital and Library.

62 E ABLY DAYS.

recover our surprise, my dear mother, my uncle, and the
children were enfolding us in their arms.

Here was a theatre for the active habits and kindly feelings
of my dear parents and my uncle. A new life, a confiding
spirit, was infused into the poor inmates. The men found
friendly advisers in all their difiGiculties and vexations, and
there were such even in this sheltering place. They found
also encouragers and assistants in the prosecution of every
good purpose, as well as power which would be obeyed in
whatever was right and necessary. The poor orphans, as well
as ourselves, had now a kind father, mother, and uncle ; the
sick were tenderly nursed and provided for ; the aged were
treated with indulgent regard, whilst the healthy were put to
useful employment, and continued at it day by day. My
mother's quick eye was everywhere ; her active step was un-
wearied ; no dust, or slop, or sluttishness, would she tolerate :
there was a place for everything, and everything would she
have in its place. Moving about in a morning in her skirted
bed-gown, the long sleeves turned up, and with her milk-white
mob-cap fringing the healthy bloom of her cheek, she enforced
activity and cleanliness in the servants, and nurses, and
attendants ; there was a movement to work whenever her
step approached ; a stirring to industry, whenever her voice
was heard.

Thus everything being adjusted, and the routine of manager
ment and subordination working in regularity, my parents
would probably hope that a long day of prosperity was before
them. Who can tell the fond anticipations in which they
would indulge? Who could estimate the depth of gratitude
which in fervent thanks they would endeavour to express
towards " the Giver of all good?" He alone to whom those
thanks were addressed — He alone could know how truly
grateful were my poor parents for this gleam of prosperity.
But even now, the fiat which makes mute all joy had gone
forth. God would have His own when He would. The
death- smell was amongst us ; the doomed were moving towards
their unseen grave.

Several cases of virulent small-pox broke out amongst the

THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 63

children of the house. My little sister Hannah, then in the
fourth year of her age, and as lovely a specimen of child-like
beauty as I ever beheld, took the disorder and died ; and in
twenty-eight days afterwards, my little brother James, then in
the second year of his age, followed her to eternity. A few
weeks only had passed, when my grandfather Battersby died,
at Middleton ; and we were mourning, after mourning, three
persons of our family and kindred having thus been called to
another world. But further trials were yet at hand.

My mother bore up like a Christian heroine ; my father
submitted in silent resignation ; whilst my uncle was probably
as much affected as any of the three. Weeks, however, wore
away, grief was mitigated, and tears were again almost dried,
' when a female whose manners and conversation indicated that
she had seen better days, was announced to be ill of the fever.
Everything was done for her which good nursing and the
medical skill of those days could effect, but she continued to
get worse and her recovery becoming hopeless, she wished
some one to make prayer for her. My uncle, as humane as
he was trustful in God, knelt down by her beside, as had been
his wont in other cases, and prayed with a solemnity and feeling
which softened and comforted her heart, and she begged he
would visit her again before she died ; he did so, and with
thanks on her lips, and an assurance of a joyful hereafter, she
expired. In a few days my uncle became unwell ; his indis-
position increased ; the strong man was prostrated by the
infecting disorder ; and his last words were, " Hannah, I'm
coming ! Jimmy, I'm coming ! "

I slept in the same room with my uncle during the former
part of his iUness, and I took the disorder, which was now
pronounced to be fever of a malignant kind, or what would be
called in these days, a typhus of the worst type. My mother
would nurse me herself as much as her other pressing duties
permitted ; at all events, she was determined that I should
not suffer from want of attendance during the night, and she
had me removed to her own room and her own bed, my father
going to sleep in, another apartment. She was tenderly
assiduous, nursing me as a dove would its young; but I

64 - EABLY DAYS.

sank and sank, until at last consciousness departed and I
knew no more. How long I remained in this condition I have
no knowledge, but it must have been during a considerable
time, probably a week or two ; and when consciousness
returned, I was in another bed in the same room, and my
mother was delirious and raving in her own bed beside
me.

^ome days and nights passed in this manner, my mother at
times insensible, and at other times praying on behalf of
herself and family; my father also frequently knelt at her
bedside, praying God, "if it so pleased Him, to let this cup
pass away : nevertheless, not his will but God's be done." At
length, one night, as I recollect, my father, my brother, my
sister, and the nurses stood around my mother's bed. She
was conscious of her approaching end, and wished to take
leave of us all. That was a solemn time : she would have me
wrapt in blankets and brought to her. Every one was in tears.
My father besought God to sustain and comfort her now that
all human aid had failed ; and she invoked blessings on the
husband and children she was about to leave. As the nurse
held me I stretched out my arms towards my dying parent,
when, blessing me with a fervent blessing, she said I should
soon be better when she was gone. I remember no more of
this sad scene. My father went back to the bed from which
he had arisen to take this last farewell ; and the next thing
that I recollect was my awakening one night, and becoming
aware of a terrible stillness. I listened to hear my mother
breathing, or praying, but nothing could I hear, and I lay some
time in a state of sad foreboding. After gazing long in the
darkness, I thought I could perceive that the curtains of my
mother's bed were drawn back, and that something white and
perfectly still lay there, which I concluded was my mother's
corpse, and I began to cry. In a short time there was a hght
in the next room, and a sound of feet, and doors were opened
and shut, and there was much passing and repassing, with the
clatter of tea-things ; and the persons began to talk, some of
them in a very cheerful strain ; and they seemed to be sitting
down to tea. I then called out and one or two came into the

A LAST GLIMPSE.

65

room, and spoke comfortingly to me. They also wrapped me up
in blankets and carried me into the room they had come from,
and in passing my mother's bed I saw her lying dead and
covered with a sheet.

VOL. I.

CHAPTEE VI.

LIVING BESIDE THE DEAD — A NURSE.

In the next room were the nurse and several women, with a
young man who, since the death of my uncle, had superin-
tended the manufactory. There was a good fire in the place ;
the kettle was on the hob, and they were preparing to have
" a comfortable cup of tea," with " something in it," previous
to washing and laying-out my mother's corpse. I was warmly
wrapped up, and placed in as easy a position as my weakness
would allow, in a two- armed chair by the fireside. This was
another trial to me; the time was midnight, or early morning;
the room was the one in which I had been accustomed to meet
my father, mother, uncle, and other members of our family.
It had been our household room, but none of our family were
now present ; the voices I heard, the faces I beheld, were
mostly those of strangers, and I felt a sense of loneliness such
as I never before experienced. The women, stout, hardy
working women, who had probably been early and late, toiling
in the dangerous task of attending the sick and dying, and
more especially my poor mother and father, partook of their
refection with a zest and a cheerfulness of conversation, which,
however natural it might be in persons of their situation, pre-
sented such a contrast to the silence of the other room, and
was so little in accordance with my present feelings, that I
burst into tears. The kind-hearted creatures no sooner saw
my distress than they did everything they could to console
me, telling me my mother was now happy, that my father
would soon be better, and that I should quickly be able to run
about again ; and so kind and assiduous were they in their

66

LIVING BESIDE THE DEAD, 67

endeavours to mitigate my grief, that at length the feehng of
desolateness which had afflicted me passed away. I felt that
all friends were not yet lost to me. I thanked them with
renewed tears, and with expressions of trustful confidence ;
and after partaking their refreshment — which their hearty
enjoyment of it made me think must be very good — they put
me to bed in another room, and went to perform their neces-
sary offices to my mother's dead body. The funeral took
place on the day following at the old church ; and my father
was unconscious of her decease, being himself at the time in a
delirium of the fever.

As my mother had foretold, soon after her death I began
rapidly to recover, and my father being placed in the same
room with' me, one nurse attended to both of us during the
night. This night-nurse was an elderly female, whose name
I will not mention, because, although during years and years
afterwards the very word inspired me with horror, it is the
distinctive appellation of many worthy persons. She was a
tall, brown, bony, hard-featured woman, with long tanned
arms, and wearing a dark dingy bed-gown, and with a profu-
sion of snuff on her face and on her soiled cap. She had a
callous and unfeehng way of performing whatever offices our
situation required ; and she was probably assigned to this
duty more from a belief of her capability to sustain it than
from any other qualification. At first the old hag was very
attentive, giving us our medicine, or wine, or whatever was
necessary, at their prescribed seasons; soon, however, she
became neglectful, and somewhat rude, and my father being
delirious and incoherent at times, she over-awed and terrified
me. At length, one night as I remember, my father being in
his better mood, asked her to give him his wine ; she said
there was none, and when he questioned her as to what had
become of it, she straightway opened upon him a torrent of
oaths, curses, and abuse, such as I had never heard. She was
quite drunk, and he had the strength to tell her audibly that
she was *' a vile woman " ; whereupon she went raving mad,
and swore she would murder us both in our beds, and she
looked round the place, seemingly for a weapon with which to

68 EARLY DAYS.

dash our brains out. I thereupon called as loudly as I could,
but it being midnight, and no one being awake in our part of
the house, it was a considerable time, or, at least, so it
seemed, before any person came to our assistance ; and during
that interval, the words, looks, and gestures of the old crone
were those of a perfect demoniac. She had drunk every drop
of the wine we should have had, and when at length the
desired help arrived, she was dragged out of the place, and
went blaspheming and yelling down the long corridors and
passages, doors closing after her one by one, until her bowlings
were no longer heard.

After this we had very good nurses, and though my father
had a crisis almost as perilous as myself had had, he at length
gradually recovered, and we both turned, as it were, though
wearily and feebly, into a world, oh ! how different from the
one we found on our first arrival at this once inviting, but now
dolorous place. Brother, sister, grandfather, uncle, mother,
five persons out of nine, parts, as it were, of our own being,
torn from us in the space of a few brief months. What a
change we felt ! What a void was around us — and what a
diminished and unsheltered group we seemed to be ! Surely
" the bitterness of death " is in the lonesome desolation of the
living; and this bitterness, notwithstanding my naturally
cheerful temper and all which kindness could do to console
me, was long my portion, until it began to be feared whether
or not I should ever be called from '* the valley of the shadow
of eternity." We had our sympathisers, however, and though
they were of the humblest station of their race, their friend-
ship was probably not the least sincere, nor, consequently,
ought it to be the least regarded. When I got strong enough
to falter into the yard, I was surrounded by the pleased
countenances of children who accompanied me with every
demonstration of joy, singing at times a rude rhyme somewhat
like the following : —

*' Here's a health to Daniel Bamford,
Who is so kind and true ;
When he gets better we'll write him a letter,
And send it to Middleton too.^'

A NVBSE.

69

The mature and elderly paupers also would stop, look at me
and walk away invoking blessings on ** the poor motherless
boy."

When my father had completely recovered, he was grieved
that my mother had not been buried at Middleton, with her
children, as it was her expressed desire to be. He accordingly
took measures with a view to having her wish complied with,
but Doctor Ashton, who was at the time rector of Middleton
and warden of the Collegiate Church at Manchester, refused
to grant permission for the removal of her remains, alleging as
his reason — and that perhaps a proper one — that the infection
of which she died might be communicated to persons attending
the ceremony. She therefore remained in her grave, on the
north side of the steeple at the Collegiate Church, where my
father caused a stone to be placed, with a suitable inscription ;
but in the alterations which some years ago were made in the
churchyard, my mother's gravestone, like many others, dis-
appeared.

■fM^

V A

'r'

CHAPTER VII.

A NEW GOVERNESS : PLAYMATES — STRIKING CHARACTERS —

DIETARY.

Whilst my father was recovering from his illness, a new
governess was appointed in the place of my deceased mother.
She was the wife of a Mr. Rose, who had been recently
unfortunate in the grocery business. She was a tall, fat,
heavy-footed woman, about fifty years of age, I should think,
and had once, no doubt, been a fine-looking person. She was
well acquainted with all kinds of cookery, and was industrious
and managing enough in her way, but that way was quite a
different one from the simple housewifery of my mother. She
was, however, I believe, good at heart, since she was generally
kind and considerate towards us children, whose waywardness
at times would probably be quite sufficient to try even a
mother's temper, much more that of a mere friendly stranger.
When her husband's affairs were arranged, he took the situa-
tion of schoolmaster in the house, and as such had his meals
at the governor's table with his wife, my father, the superin-
tendent of the manufactory, the apothecary or dispenser of
medicine, and sometimes the governor's three children. Mr. '
Rose was a quiet, mild, elderly person, inclined to corpulence,
and apparently satisfied with an easy life. The dispenser of
medicine was a little cheerful old man, dressed in black, with
thin grey hairs on his head, a white cravat, and a dusting of
snuff on his waistcoat ; his walk was almost a kind of dance,
it was so lightsome, and he went tripping round to his
patients, as he called them, every morning, with a small
saying or a cheerful word for every one. He was a native of

70

A NEW G0VEENES8. 71

London, and had moved there in a respectable mercantile
sphere, but being suddenly ruined and abandoned by those on
whom he thought he had claims of gratitude, he left the place
in disgust of mankind, and almost of life, and having, scarcely
knowing how or why, wandered into Lancashire, he took a
humble situation in a tea warehouse at Manchester, when, his
health failing, he was transferred to the workhquse, and on
his recovery became the attendant on the physician, and a
kind of house apothecary, in which situation, having a small
salary and comfortable maintenance, the old gentleman seemed
to have become quite happy, and forgetful of his former condi-
tion, seldom indeed even alluding to it. The superintendent
of the manufactory was the young man I have before men-
tioned, a native of Middleton, and on his leaving after a short
stay, the place was filled by John Haworth, a native of the
Forest of Eossendale, who, having in the hey-day of his youth
enlisted into the dragoons, had spent the best part of his life
as a soldier in the Flanders wars. John was quite an original
in his way ; he was huge in stature, massively bony, with but
a small portion of fleshy texture to round off the sharp points
of his frame. He was very serious and staid in his manners,
superstitious in his notions about witches, apparitions, and
beings of another world, and equally sincere and credulous in
his religious opinions. Yet at times, when something very
adverse and unexpected amongst the workmen tried his
patience, he would rap out a round regimental oath, and as
instantly call it back, as it were, with a "Lord, help us ! "
** God, forgimmi ! " and then he seemed to suppose all was
right again. Poor John — he was a true specimen of the
fearless, sword-hewing Enghsh dragoon, engrafted on the
simple, credulous, ineradicable rusticity of the old Lancashire
moorlander before the hill- streams were poisoned by dye- vats,
and the valleys were studded with smoke funnels. Besides-
the persons I have noticed who formed my father's more
immediate associates, he had a stout assistant also, who helped
him in the management of the lunatics, and the refractory
paupers, when there were any ; and who also brewed, and did
the other cellar and porter's work of the house ; so that on

72 EARLY DAYS.

the governor's side there was no lack of power for coercion
when it was necessary, but that was seldom the case, except
with the unfortunate insane.

My father's health having been re-established, he resumed
the duties of his situation, and the management of the house
was carried on with regularity and mutual satisfaction betwixt
my father and the governess, who was very kind and atten-
tive to me. I continued in a weakly and a feeble state, and
that was probably the reason why I was more indulged than
I otherwise should have been, and certainly more than was
conducive to my quick recovery. I was allowed to run about
the place, almost when and where I chose, and I was not
long in selecting a few especial playmates from amongst the
pauper children. The big boys carried me on their backs ;
with the girls I played at ball, or at hide-and-seek, or the
old-fashioned game of " Blackthorne ; " and when a group
of girls came around me as I sat to recover breath, the con-
versation would often be allusive to my mother, and then to
parents generally, and next to such parents or relatives of the
children as had died, or had deserted them, or were unknown.
And thus we often chatted in our childish way until our young
hearts got too full, and, forgetful of our play, we sat in tears.
With these poor children I was an immense favourite ; a kind
of little brother to those who had none other in the world*
Besides, I always divided amongst them any trifle or choice
bit of delicacy which I happened to be pampered with at the
time. Pip Brown, who was my big horse, thus got my toasted
cheese ; Bill Jordan, who ran races, and leaped furthest, had
my buttered toast ; little Nelly, whose father had been
pressed and sent to sea, came in for my pie crust or my
currant dumpling ; whilst the pale and desolate-looking Alice,
who was always alone, and who had not a relation in the
world, was often cheered by my kind word, and was sure to
get a share of my custard or my plum cake. The women also
would confide to me some little message to Mrs. Eose when
they wanted a trifling favour : the old men would get me
to mention their being without clogs, or their want of a new
doublet for the winter time, whilst if any punishment was to

STETEING GHABAGTERS, 73

be inflicted, any penance undergone, I was ever a pleader for
the suffering party, and was often in some degree successful ;
I perceived that neither my father nor Mrs. Kose were dis-
pleased with my interference ; and I had, consequently,
friends in every part of the house. The old women would tell
me strange stories of ghosts and hobgoblins; the old men
narrated shipwrecks and battles, or they would chant the song
of the famous outlaw, how

" He blew so loud and shrill ;
Till a hundred and ten,
Of Robin Hood's men,
Came tripping over the bill."

And I was quite delighted with the idea of a free life in '' the
merrie green- wood."

Even amongst the lunatics, where I would sometimes pre-
vail upon the keeper to let me accompany him, unknown to
my father, I felt very little apprehension, and had several ac-
quaintance. Some who were fierce and dangerous towards
all others would permit me to approach them, and seemed
pleased by my confidence. Others would be entirely mollified
and disarmed of their frenzy by a trifling kindness, or a
soothing word ; and for such as these I generally had secreted
some little present, such as a pinch or two of snuff, a quid of
tobacco ; or for the women some female ornament, with a
word or two of hope and persuasion that they would soon
return to their friends. Some were unmitigably mad, and
untamed as wild beasts ; and from these I was kept at a
proper distance. One who had been an extensive trader in
Manchester, but was ruined by gross dissipation, was loath-
some to behold, and frightful to hear ; whilst another, old
Sally T., whose sons were then in business, and have since
retired with princely fortunes, was invariably lamenting, and
shedding tears ; she was beyond the reach of consolation in
this world. But there was one who, having been once seen,
was not soon to be forgotten. She was a young girl, an Irish
girl I think, of perhaps seventeen years of age. Whilst her
features were of the most beautiful outline, her person appeared

74 BABLY DAYS.

to be of faultless symmetry, and whilst her face and neck
were pale without a streak, her hair, which hung over her
bosom and shoulders, was black as jet ; her head, and the
upper part of her bust, were mostly bare ; and at first glance,
she looked like one who had come amongst us from some
unknown sphere — so strange, so unearthly, so hopeless, so
deathful, seemed the very life within her. Her features were
immovable as the marble from which they seemed to have
been chiselled. If pressed into ^ seat, she sat, if lifted to her
feet, she stood, mute and motionless from sunrise to sunset
would she have so remained if permitted. No tear fell from
her eye, no sigh broke from her heart, no word escaped from
her lips, save once, and that was ** Edward ! " the name of
him who had betrayed and abandoned her. The poor thing
lingered in this state some weeks, taking no food except when
compelled to do so. All the natural functions were suspended,
and at length the only indication of life which she had re-
tained ceased also, and she no longer breathed.

Amongst the harmless lunatics who were suffered to go
about the yards, was one who imagined himself to be the Duke
of York. My father rather humoured his innocent whim, and
he soon appeared in a cocked hat, and with various coloured
stripes and shreds on his shoulders and across his breast, to
the great amusement of the boys, whom he enlisted, and
formed into a regiment to conquer the French ; a business
almost as feasible and wise as some of those in which the real
Duke was at the same time engaged. Paddy Hamilton was
another lunatic, who, though not so entirely harmless as ** the
Duke," was allowed the run of the yards. The boys used to
tease and irritate him, when he would sometimes turn upon
and chase them, striking such as he caught unmercifully,
and as they durst not complain, for fear of further punishment,
my father was kept in ignorance of these proceedings. On
one of these occasions, the boys had teased the poor young
fellow until he seemed to have become all at once conscious
of his wretched condition, and instead of throwing stones, or
running after the children, he sat down on the edge of the
stone pump trough and burst into tears. We were all sur-

ill

DIETABY, 76

prised to see him sitting so quiet — for I was one of the party
— and on going near cautiously, we found him weeping
bitterly, and exclaiming, "Why did you do this, boys?"
" Oh, what did I do to you, that you thus ill-use me? " The
ot^her lads stood around, some laughing, some inchned to be
sorry ; but as for me, ^my heart smote me instantly ; I felt
that I had been committing a great wrong, and going up to
the poor fellow, I took his hand, and cried with him for
company, telling him we would never do so any more, inducing
also the other boys to promise the same ; and to make the
peace lasting, and somewhat satisfactory to my own con-
science, I went into the kitchen and asked for some bread and
cheese, as if for myself, and coming out again I gave the
whole to Paddy. Ever after that I was Paddy's protector,
and he was my devoted friend.

Such was the sort of life which I passed amongst these poor
children and poor people. It is true I saw and heard some
things of which it perhaps would not have been any disadvan-
tage had I remai-ned ignorant for the time. But my heart
was never corrupted, never beguiled of its childish simplicity.
Nor did any of these poor people, and I will do them the
justice to state it, ever by word or deed, throw in my way an
inducement that might lead to vice.

The great mass of the poor and unfortunate are not, in my
opinion, so vicious as by the "well-to-do" multitude of the
world they are supposed to be ; and judging from what I have
seen of them, from my childhood to the present time, which
has not been a little, I should say they are more entitled to
pity than condemnation. Some, we know, are thoroughly
vicious and debased ; but that the main body of them,
struggling as they do, daily and hourly, with want on one
hand and the allurements to vice on the other, still lean, nay,
hold strongly, by "virtue's side," and cast from them tempta-
tions of which those who judge them severely know nothing,
appears to me a truth so undeniable, that although my humble
testimony may increase its acceptance, I cannot expect that it
will add to its force.

I may, before closing this chapter, observe that the dietary

76 EABLY DAYS.

of the paupers, according to my best recollection, was water
porridge and milk for breakfast, and sometimes drink por-
ridge : boiled beef and vegetables, broth, hash, pea-soup, stew,
and bread for dinner ; the dishes in succession, of course, or
as convenience might require — the bread at dinner always. The
suppers were water porridge and milk, or drink porridge,
except on Sunday evenings, when each adult had a pint of
good ale, with a slice round a loaf and a decent lump of
cheese, served to them. The sick and very aged and infirm
had bread and butter, or buttered toast, with tea or coffee,
morning and evening ; tlieir dinners were cut from the meat
on the governor's table. The spade-men working in the
grounds had bread and cheese and ale every afternoon, and
the smokers and snuff-takers were each gratified every Friday
with an allowance of their favourite luxury. Married couples
did not live together ; they were separated ; they could not be
otherwise, unless a separate apartment could have been
found for each family, and that was out of all question. The
men, therefore, lived in the men's ward, and the women in
that of the women, taking with them infants at the breast,
and perhaps one of the very youngest of the children, if they
had a number. The men and their wives might see and
converse with each other in the day time, especially when
going to or returning from their meals in the public eating
room ; it was not considered an offence to do so ; they were
not, however, to remain conversing, but to depart to their
respective wards, or avocations, when the other paupers did
the same.

CHAPTEK VIII.

BAD HEALTH — WOBSE DOCTORING — A TIMELY RETREAT^ SCHOOL-
MASTERS — THE FREE GRAMMAR SCHOOL.

I CONTINUED in a very lingering condition, and my health
having been consigned to the care of the worthy apothecary,
who undertook my cure with the utmost confidence, he almost
finished me by continual doses of a nauseous and sickly drug,
called syrup of buckthorn, which the cheerful old gentleman,
whom I almost began to hate, prevailed on me by coaxing or
threats to gulp down every other morning. I scarcely need
to say I got no better ; the physic I took, such was my
disgust towards it, would have made me ill had I been in
health. I had a feeling of tightness or weight upon the chest,
with a lowness and weariness of mind and body, which
increased as it continued ; I had also an ever-present wish to
be at Middleton, an earnest longing to return to what I con-
sidered my true home, and to play once more with my earliest
comrades. This longing, no doubt, had more to do with my
illness than either my father or the apothecary had ever
dreamt of; it was, in fact, the " home-sickness " which has
carried multitudes to the grave. On one fine Sunday after-
noon, as I well remember, my father took me to have a walk
in the country. Our course was up Strangeways, and across
Cheetwood to Cheetham Hill, where, with a reUsh I had not
experienced for a long time, I partook of bottled porter and
biscuit and butter. After having rested, my father would
have returned through another part of Cheetwood, but learning
that the highway we were upon led to Middleton, and that the

78 E ABLY DAYS.

field-road to that place turned off a little further down, I
prevailed on him to go past that spot, that I might once more
behold the path that led to my Paradise on earth. We
accordingly returned by the end of Smedley Lane, past the
'* Eagle and Child " — I hobbling as well as I could — and coming
to Butter Stile, I prevailed on my father to go over it, and let
me rest on the sweet green grass of those meadows, which to
me appeared more brilliantly green than any I had seen
during a long time. Here I luxuriated amongst the butter-
cups and daisies, and the glent of a little peeping primrose or
two cast a whole stream of sunny thoughts and pleasant feeUngs
into that happy moment. The trees seemed to wave a broader
and richer foliage ; the air was balmy and refreshing ; the sun
itself was more life-fraught than when I felt it shining against
the high walls and the flagged yards of the workhouse. Here,
also, were birds the very same in appearance with those I had
seen at Middleton ; the bonny white wren, whose nest I so
often found ; the golden wagtail, and the lark too, singing just
as he used to do during the field rambles of myself and play-
mates. I was now in a happy mood, and I made known to
my father how very agreeable this country walk was to me ;
how much better I already felt, and that I was sure I should
soon be well if I might only go to Middleton for a short time.
My indulgent parent listened with attention : he seemed
struck for the first time, with an idea of one cause, at least, of
my illness, and he promised that I should go to Middleton, as
soon as he could make arrangements for my reception in the
family of his sister, or that of his nephew. Blithely then
did I rise from the grass, though sadly tired, and very weak.
My father was not forgetful of what he had learned with
respect to my illness, and the Saturday following I was com-
mitted to the care of Betty o' Booth, an old neighbour of ours
who kept a shop at Middleton; she took me to the apple
market, and stowed me away in a manner which, above all
others, I should have chosen, namely, on a cart, amid
hampers of apples, pears, and other fruit, which to me was
not forbidden. By her I was safely delivered into the hands
of my relatives, one of whom, a second mother, was more dear

BAD HEALTH. 79

to me than all the rest, and this was Sally Owen, who had be-
come the wife of my cousin William, before we left Middleton.

I need not dwell longer on this passage of my life than to
say that the habits of this family were strictly regular, my
cousin was a Methodist of the old primitive earnest cast.
Every morning a portion of Scripture was read, after which
followed extempore prayer. Blessing was asked and thanks
. r:eturned at every meal; and the day closed' with another
prayer. Other concerns were transacted with the same
regularity which governed the devotions ; and though the
family was a rather large one, everything was carried on « with
the exactitude of clockwork, I alone being allowed some indul-
gence with respect to my incomings and outgoings, for as I
had a home at Betty o' Booth's, as well as here, and only
the brook divided them, there was less need of my keeping a
strict attention to the meal times. But though I was happy
myself, enjoying former scenes and associations with relish, I
found I did not inspire others with the pleasure I hoped to
have done. My " trindled shirt," which lay all white and
nice with the collar and ruffles on my shoulders, was a cause
of envy to one or two of my comrades. Neither did my speech,
which during my twelve-months' absence had become a Httle
polished, entirely meet with their approval. "Yerthe," I
could hear them whispering to each other, ** Yerthe, he ses yis,
an' no." Some shyness was at first caused by my altered
appearance and speech, but we soon became friends, and after
a month of unrestricted freedom, and of continual action in
the open air, with a diet at once simple and nourishing, I
returned to Manchester with roses on my cheeks and quite
. restored to health.

I was now sent to school, and my first essay was with a
master in Hanover Street, from whom I learned nothing, save
a knowledge of the severe chastisement to which he subjected
his unhappy scholars when they chanced to arouse his un-
governed anger. John Holt, who kept a school near to the
Methodist Chapel, in Oldham Street, was my next tutor. He
was a Methodist local preacher, and opened school every
morning with singing and prayer; he was a person of low

80 EARLY DAYS.

stature and quick action, and wore a full-bottomed grey wig,
and a " cock and pinch'd hat." I attended his instructions a
considerable time, without much advancement, for, notwith-
standing all he could do— and he was an industrious and
ingenious teacher — I only got to spelling and reading words of
one syllable ; in fact, I must either have been very dull, or so
taken up with play, with objects of mere feeling and impulse,
that the faculty of thought and attention had remained
inactive. After a time I was sent to the Free Grammar
School, with the almost forlorn hope that at a place of such
high repute something would be done, or would accidentally
occur, to awaken my dormant faculties, if faculties at all for
the acquirement of book knowledge I had. The house apothe-
cary, who could assume a most polished address, undertook to
introduce me to the respected master of the lower school, at
this venerable and useful institution. All the rules and
customs of such occasions the old gentleman would, of course,
be careful to observe. He first, therefore, took me to a con-
fectioner's shop in Smithy Door, where, having purchased a
couple of pounds of the best gingerbread, he toddled, and I
after him, across the churchyard and down Long Mill Gate, to
the school ; and having gained admittance, he respectfully pre-
sented me to the master, with a request, on behalf of my
father, that he would be so kind as to afford me the benefit of
his instruction. The master, receiving us courteously, asked
what were my present requirements, also my name, age, and
place of residence, which latter replies he entered in a book ;
and my conductor, depositing the gingerbread in a parcel on
the table, together with a shilling, bowed and withdrew,
leaving me abashed and confused amid the gaze and observa-
tion of the scholars, which I did not expect would be much in
my favour, as I was weakly and ill-looking enough, and the
more so from wearing a white linen cap, which tied under my
chin. On a sign from the master a boy approached, and,
taking me with one hand and the packet of gingerbread with
the other, he led me to his class, which was that of the
spellers, into which I was joyfully received. The boy who led
me hither, and who was the head one of his class, now went

FREE GBAMMAR SCHOOL, 81

round and delivered to each boy of the class sitting in his
place a cake of the gingerbread, and continued so doing until
the whole I had brought was distributed. This was a very
acceptable introduction to the boys ; it was the invariable
custom of the lower school, and was always productive of a
friendly greeting towards the fresh comer ; for my part, in five
minutes I had a score or two of new acquaintance, asking
questions, giving me information, and ready to lend me a help-
ing hand in anything, especially so long as my gingerbread
was sweet in their mouths. Such was my introduction to,
and thus I became the lowest scholar in the lowest class of,
the Free Grammar School.

My present instructor was a gentleman of probably thirty
years of age, well-formed, above the middle height, with his
powdered hair turned back from his free open countenance,
and his face somewhat coloured by irruptions. His dress was
such as became his station, that of a curate of the Church.
His coat, vest, and breeches were of fine black cloth, the
latter article of dress being held below the knee by a brace of
small silver buckles, his stockings were dark grey speckled, his
shoes were also fastened with silver buckles, and his cravat
and linen were neatly adjusted, and very white. Thus did the
Reverend John Gaskell appear on that well-remembered morn-
ing when he took me under his care ; such was also his
general mode of dress on other ordinary occasions. The
school was a large room of an oblong form, extending north
and south, and well lighted by large windows. At the north-
ern end was a fireplace, with a red cheerful fire glowing in the
grate. The master's custom was to sit in an armed chair,
with his right towards the fire and his left arm resting on a
square oaken table, on which lay a newspaper or two, a
magazine or other publication, a couple of canes with the
ends split, and a medley of boy's playthings, such as tops,
whips, marbles, apple-scrapers, nut-crackers, dragon banding,
and such like articles. The scholars were divided into six
classes, namely, accidence, or introduction to Latin, higher Bible,
middle Bible, lower Bible, Testament, and spelling classes :
the accidence class sat opposite the master's face, and the

VOL. I. t)

82 EABLY DAYS,

higher Bible one was at his back. Each class sat on a strong
oaken bench, backed by a panel of the same, placed against
the wall, with a narrow desk in front, so that all sat around
the school in regular gradation. The spellers only had not a
desk, they sat on forms outside the desk of the higher Bible
class, they being considered as children amongst the boys.
The boys of each class were placed according to their pro-
ficiency, and the first and second boys of the class exercised
considerable authority over the others. The school hours were
from seven to half -past eight at morning, from half-past nine to
twelve at noon, and from two till five afternoon. The master
was seldom more than five minutes beyond the time, and on
coming in, he first pulled off his hat, and his extra coat or
handkerchief, if he brought such ; he would then probably
give his hands a warming at the fire, stamp the wet from his
shoes, and turning his back to the pleasant warmth, he would
take a survey of the muster already arrived. Every boy who
now entered the school was bound to go up to the table and
present his shoulders for a correction, and they in general got
off with a slight cut or two of the cane, except frequent
defaulters, and those were hit more severely, being often sent
to their class writhing, to the amusement of their more orderly
comrades. The mustering and flogging being over, the classes
were severally called up, arranged round the table, and went
through their lessons, the boy who in spelling or reading could
readiest make out a word when those above him were at fault,
moving up to their places, and thus the quickest spellers and
readers were always towards the upper end of their class.
When a boy had been at the head of his class some time, and
especially if he happened to have some acquaintance amongst
those of the next class above him, and they wished to have
him amongst them, their head boy would take him by the
hand, and leading him to the master, would say, " If you

please, sir, must (mentioning the surname) go into my

class?" when a brief intimation, as a nod, a '*yes," or "no,"
would decide the application, and the parties withdrew either
elated with success or abashed by failure. The boys of the
accidence class had a singular, I may say an anomalous, pri-

FBEE GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 83

vilege at this school. Betwixt their lessons, and when, as one
might suppose they should have been, studying their books for
another lesson, they were allowed, two or three at a time, to
perambulate round the school, in front of the other boys, when
if they saw any one playing with a top or a ball, or other
trifle, or showing one to a comrade, the privileged scholar
would seize it and deposit it on the master's table ; or if the
boy who had it were more than a match for the other, he
would inform the master that so and so was at play with a
top, or other thing, when the offender would be called up,
compelled to lay down the toy, and would perhaps get a cut
or two with the cane for his contumacy. These articles of
plunder lay on the master's table until the school broke up,
when, the moment the master put on his hat and stepped
towards the dbor, the boys being previously all ready for a
start, a rush was made from every corner of the school, a
regular scramble ensued, and he who could fasten on a prize
and keep it had it for his pains. Thursday and Saturday after-
noons were play-times, and at Easter, Whitsuntide, and
Christmas we had holidays of longer duration. Such were
the customs of the lower department of the Free Grammar
School, and the manner of conducting it at that time. What
were the systems of the middle and upper schools — which were
in other parts of the same building — I never knew, and conse-
quently cannot describe. I may as well say, however, that it
was understood amongst the scholars that the system of the
lower school, with all its irregularities, was such as had pre-
vailed a long time, and that our instructor was not at liberty
to depart from it in any material degree.

At that time the Eev. Joshua Brookes " lived at the house
adjoining the school. He was not a very great favourite with
the scholars, or with any one that I ever heard tell of, though,
excepting a little uncontrollable irritability of temper, I never
knew why he should not have been so. His father, however,

* An eccentric but learned divine and chaplain of the " Old Church," in
which capacity he is said to have baptised, married, and buried more
persons than any other clergyman in the kingdom.

84 EABLY DAYS,

was still less esteemed than himself." He was a little old
deformed cripple, with his features as crumpled and knitted as
if he were a living alegar cruet. His up-cast face was a clear
healthy brown, and on his head he wore a little old round hat,
with a broad girdle and buckle in front of it. His knees were
rigid, and his legs were doubled backward, so that when he
stood upright he was on his knees ; and in that posture, with
a pair of short crutches under his arms, his knees protected by
thick leathern sockets, and the toes of his buckled shoes by
plates of brass, he used to hobble about the streets, dragging
his feet after him. On fine sunny days he would often be
sitting at his son's door, when woe to the boy at play who
chanced unthinkingly to get within the reach of his crutch,
especially if at any former time the youth had not treated him
with that respect which he thought was his due.

My especial companions amid the varied crowd of these
scholars were John Pilkington, son to the clerk at the old
church; Jim Torkington, whose parents kept a hat shop in
Church Street ; Dick France, whose father kept the '' Sir John
Falstaff," in the Market Place; Henry Woodhouse, whose
father kept the ** Bull's Head"; and Dick Lyon, the occupation
of whose father I have forgotten. Jim Torkington I respected
because I had beaten him once and he did not get me flogged
as he might have done. Henry Woodhouse was agreeable,
being always willing to do as the others did. Dick Lyon,
with his bold, honest face, would undertake anything, and
stand by any cause that I did. He it was also who first got
me advanced in the school by " asking " me from the speUing
into the Testament class ; and poor Dick France I was partial
to because I thought he was rather severely treated, being
flogged more than any other boy in the school, not because he
was more vicious than other boys, but because he was more
thoughtless and unlucky — inattentive, not having the power
to be otherwise, and continually in scrapes for which others
deserved the punishment. He was a fine, good-looking lad,
however, as brave as he was thoughtless, and as kind-hearted

* According to Mr. W. E. A. Axon (** Nat. Die. Biog.") he went by the
name of " Pontius Pilate."

FBEE GBAMMAE SCHOOL, 85

as he was brave. Many and many were the rambles I took
with this gang on our holiday afternoons. Cheetwood, Ker-
sall, Crumpsall, and Broughton, were most frequently the
scenes of our wanton froHcs — our runnings, and leapings, and
tumblings, and boxings. For in those hilarious outbreaks we
were all life^ laughter, and kindly joke. The sweet breath
of the earth, coming up through the sod, we felt and inhaled,
as we rolled over each other amongst the flowers: then the
gusty wind blew our wild hair into each other's faces ; when
the sun broke we sung aloud; when the rain came we un-
covered our dewy foreheads to cool them with the welcome
drops. Then there was bird's-nesting to be done, and stick-
cutting, and flower-culhng, and earth-nut digging, and cress-
gathering, — and when gnawing hunger came, as it did full
soon, we sat down by the first clear rindle or dimpling spring
that fell in our way, and each one pulling out his store of
eatables, we fell to and feasted as joyously as if our fathers
were the kings of those sweet solitudes.

Sometimes I and my companions would visit the " Giant's
Castle " at Castle Field, after which we generally made the after-
noon away by watching the boats on the Duke's Canal, or
rambling around Hulme Hall, or on the dangerous brink of
the Irwell, leaping like young kids. The remains of the
ancient fortress at Castle Field embraced a level plot of ground
almost of a circular form : the turf was quite smooth, and the
grass where not trodden was very green. The centre of the
plot was lower than the circuit, along which, here and there,
might be seen grey stones and lumps of mortar. In one part
of the area was a spot elevated above the rest, a small green
mount, and around this also at intervals, foundations and
ruins were seen jutting above the surface. But even these
small remains of old Mancenion, hoary in tradition of untold
years, are not now to be found.

Sometimes we would spend an hour or two in going through
the College (the Old Baron's Hall), in playing in the pump-
yard above the Irk, here all sadly metamorphosed and defiled;
and in ever-recurring astonishment at the vast length and bulk
which the fish must have been, which opened and shut —

86 EABLY DAYS.

awful idea — the huge jaw-bones which spanned the arch of
the eastern gateway. Or we would climb the tower of the old
church when the bells were ringing a peal, and the more
daring would grasp a comrade's hand and stand upon the edge
of the parapet, the steeple vibrating at the time almost like a
stout oak in a breeze. This feat was done by more than one
of our party; and in truth, if there were a place to which we
ought not to have gone, or a feat we ought not to have at-
tempted, to that place we were nearly sure to stray, and that
exploit was almost certain to be tried.

And now, as is often the case, for the most important thing
last, namely, my progress in learning at this celebrated school.
When I entered the school, as already stated, I was one of the
spelling class, and when the day for general promotion came
at Christmas I was the first scholar in the first Bible-class,
and consequently was the first English speller and reader in
the school. I first discovered that I had made some progress
in learning one Sunday morning at home, when conning, as
usual, a chapter in the Testament, I unexpectedly found that
I could read slowly verse after verse, almost without spelling a
word. This was a joyful event to me ; I read to my father
when he came into the room ; I read to the old apothecary,
and the latter, patting me on the head, gave me a silver six-
pence, and encouraged me to get on with my learning. I had
some time before made myself master of the awful tale of
" Brown, Jones, and Eobinson," in the spelling-book, but then
I had only got through it by the help of numerous spellings ;
whereas, now, being able to read, I had almost continually the
Testament in my hand. I read all the wondrous accounts in
the Kevelation, and my father, not a little pleased, would at
times sit down, and in his way explain the meaning of the
strange things about which I read. After I had gone through
the Kevelation, I began with the Gospel of St. Matthew, and
was deeply interested by the miracles, sufferings, and death of
our Lord. The New Testament was now my story book, and
I read it all through and through, but more for the interest
the marvellous passages excited, than from any religious im-
pression which they created. The gentle and benign character

FBEE GRAMMAE SCHOOL, 87

of Christ filled me with admiration and awe : His sufferings
excited my deepest sympathy, His persecutors my strongest
hatred, and I only wished that Peter had chopped off one side
of Judas's head, instead of merely cropping "the servant of
the high priest's " ear.

And now a wider range was opened to my assiduous quest
after the wonderful. At the corner of Hanging Bridge, near
the Old Church yard, was a book shop kept by one Swindells,
a printer. In the spacious windows of this shop, which is now
"The Wedding-Eing " coffee-house, were exhibited numerous
songs, ballads, tales, and other publications, with horrid and
awful-looking woodcuts at the head ; which publications, with
their cuts, had a strong command on my attention. Every
farthing I could scrape together was now spent in purchasing
histories of " Jack the Giant Killer," " Saint George and the
Dragon," " Tom Hickathrift," " Jack and the Beanstalk,"
" The Seven Champions of Christendom," tale of "Fair Eosa-
mond," " History of Friar Bacon," " Account of the Lanca-
shire Witches," " The Witches of the Woodlands," and such
like romances, whilst my metrical collections embraced but
few pieces besides " Eobin Hood's Songs" and "The Ballad
of Chevy Chase." Of all these tales and ballads I was soon
master, and they formed the subjects of many a long study to
me, and of many a wonder-creating story for my acquaintance
both at the workhouse and elsewhere. For my part I im-
plicity believed them all, and when told by my father or others
that they were " trash " and " nonsense," and " could not be
true," I, innocently enough, contrasted their probability with
that of other wondrous things which I had read in books that
"it were a sin to disbelieve." So I continued reading, and
doubting nothing which I read, until many years after, when a
more extended acquaintance with men and books taught me
how better to discriminate betwixt reason and unreason, truth
and falsehood. When I first plunged, as it were, into the
blessed habit of reading, faculties which had hitherto given
but small intimation of existence, suddenly sprung into vigo-
rous action. My mind was ever desiring more of the silent
but exciting conversation with books, and of whatever was

88 EARLY DAYS.

conveyed to it from that source, small was the portion that
did not remain. My attention was quick, and my memory
was very retentive of what I read.

Whilst I thus made myself acquainted with the New Testa-
ment, the Bible, and all the other books that fell in my way,
the day had come round when, previous to the Christmas
hoHdays, a general promotion took place of such scholars as
were qualified for higher classes, and I being the first boy in
the first Enghsh class, should have been promoted to the
** accidence.'' But, alas ! when called upon I could only
inform the master, with blushes on my cheeks and tears in my
eyes, that my father did not wish me to go into the Latin class
at present, but desired that I might remain in the class to
which I then belonged. My master, I can recollect, looked at
me incredulously; studied, questioned me again, and, with an
expression of disappointment, motioned that I should return
to my place. This was a sore humiliation to me. My com-
rades Pilkington, Woodhouse, and others, passed over to the
Latin side, whilst I remained in a class lower than theirs, and
consequently stood in a situation inferior to that of those
whom I had been in the habit of leading. Henceforward I
thought meanly of my position, and never glanced at my
former comrades without a feeling which lowered the zest of
my future school-life.

This as it regarded my welfare was probably the most mo-
mentous and ill-advised step which my father could have
determined upon. Had the threshold of the classics been
once crossed by me, great must have been the difficulties in-
deed which would have prevented me from making the whole
of that ancient lore my own. I was just at the right age, and
in the right frame of mind, with faculties as it were newly
come to life, and with an instructor who I have since had
many reasons for supposing would have done all he could
towards helping me forward into the upper schools ; and, had
I once got fairly introduced to the learning of the ancients I
should not have stopped short on this side of the university I
think. But my father had more humble views, founded on
serious and conscientious reasons I have no doubt. He said

FREE GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 89

Latin should be learned by such only as were intended to
btecome doctors, or lawyers, or parsons ; and as I should never
be any of these, the time spent in learning it would only be
thrown away. A knowledge of English grammar, he said,
was worth more than Greek or Latin to an Englishman, and
he wondered why, in the name of goodness, English grammar
was not taught at this English grammar school ; and so he
concluded he would not buy me an *' accidence." Such were
the homely views and the determination resulting from them,
which kept me at my English rudiments another year, and
thrust me from that portal of knowledge which I never after-
wards had an opportunity of approaching. Had my mother
been living, such would probably not have been the case, and
a course of life, far different from the one I have pursued,
would have been marked out before me.

CHAPTEK IX.

ANOTHER GREAT CHANGE.

Meantime Mr. Eose, the schoolmaster at the workhouse, died,
and his place was filled by a Mr. Pickering, who, like his pre-
decessor, had been in business and failed. Mr. Pickering was
about fifty years of age, a quick and rather haughty kind of
man, who endeavoured to maintain a remnant of the authori-
tative manner of his former state, though it was greatly out of
place in the situation he then occupied. My father, I recollect,
was under the necessity of setting him right once or twice,
after which, as he came round to understand his position
better, he was not an unpleasant associate. His wife had
died some time before, leaving him two children, a son and
a daughter, to provide for. The latter, who was a sweet-
looking, affectionate young woman, probably from sixteen to
eighteen years of age, lived in the family of a Mr. Eichardson,
who kept a large glass and china shop at the top of Smithy
Door : and the son, Samuel, who was a fine lad about my own
age, and had a great resemblance of his sister, came to live
with his father at the workhouse. Sam and I were, of course,
inseparable companions; we ate together, and when not at
school, played together from morning to night. He was as
great a blockhead in books as I had ever been, and in our
walks outside the gates, which were not unfrequent, I read to
him my twopenny histories, and narrated all my stories, until
he was as great an enthusiast as myself. At length, " Eobinson
Crusoe," that ever exciting day-dream of boys, fell in our way.
I read it to hirja, as I had done the others, and for a long time
both Sam's ideas and mine were awed and fascinated by the

90

ANOTHER GEE AT CHANGE. 91

descriptions of sea-dangers, shipwrecks, and lone islands with
savages, and far-off countries teeming with riches and plenty.
In a field close to the gates was a large and deep reservoir of water
which accumulated from a small rindle which came through
the wood I have before mentioned, and supphed the extensive
brewery below, which afterwards belonged to Messrs. Fray,
Hole, and Potter. In one part of this reservoir was a small
island covered with willows and other shrubs, and Sam and I
had often explored this island when the water was sufficiently
low for us to wade it — our reward being sometimes a couple
or so of duck- eggs. We had also taken a goodly number of
fish, chiefly perch and bream, with which we stored a circular
pond in the garden of the workhouse. Now, however, we
assumed other characters than those of mere idling school-
boys : we were henceforth " Kobinson Crusoe," and his " Man
Friday." The cock- clod was our " desert island"; the brush-
wood was our means of concealment ; the duck-eggs and the
fish wfere as much our lawful right as was anything which
Crusoe possessed in his place of solitude ; we had *' savages "
also, whose "footprints" made us pause and look around;
those savages being the men from the brewery, who sometimes
discovering us when they came up to let off the water, gave us
chase and made us carry our heels quickly towards the wood.
Nor were we without our perils and " shipwrecks " ; for
getting some old planks and a split board or two, we made
a raft, on which, whenever we found it necessary to ** go on a
voyage," we paddled the length or breadth of this our "ocean,"
often getting ashore, only just at the time when our timbers
were dispersing, and our craft was " a total wreck." Poor
Sam ! I had a great affection for him. I sometimes went with
him to see his sister ; and I could perceive that she was not at
ease, for her employer looked very crusty when he found her
otherways employed than in dusting glasses or arranging
china. Both Sam and his sister often shed tears at parting
after their brief interviews. He stopped not long at the work-
house ; his father, I think, sickened and died there. But
however it was, Sam went to sea, and in a voyage or two
news came that he was lost. I was years and could not

92 EABLY DAYS.

believe that he was dead. I had a notion that he had been
sold to slavery in some foreign land, and V70uld certainly
return. But poor Sam never came back again ; he v^as lost
sure enough.

It must have been about this time that I was taken to see
that unfortunate youth, George Eussel, pass through Man-
chester, on his way to the place of execution at Newton
Heath. The impression left by that sad spectacle will never
be eradicated from my mind, unless reason fail.*

My father, judging it expedient, as I suppose, to enter again
into the married state, took to wife a widow with four children,
who earned a frugal livelihood by doing needlework for saddlers.
Her children were three sons and one daughter, and the oldest
son was at sea in the African slave trade. After this event,
the business of the workhouse was conducted in a less agree-
able manner than it had heretofore been betwixt my father
and the governess. It is only reasonable to suppose that my
father had been induced to take this decided step by the per-
suasion that his wife would fill the situation held by Mrs.
Kose ; he probably had some grounds for a supposition of that
kind ; promises and pledges to that effect were probably given
by the parish officers, or some influential portion of them, but
however that might be, disagreements betwixt my father and
the governess became of almost daily occurrence. Crimination
and recrimination followed ; the parish officers became parti-
zans in the dispute ; We children were sent away — my sister
to a friend in town, and I and my brother to our relations at
Middleton. From that time I never resided with my father,
and soon after both he and Mrs. Eose were discharged from
their situations.

My father had lost a wife, a brother, two children, and
nearly his own life and that of a third child, in the service
of the township of Manchester ; and though, as I have good
reasons for supposing, no valid impeachment was made against
either his capacity or his integrity, he got nothing by way of
"indemnity," when a party in the town's office thought fit to
dispense with his services. There was no "retiring pension"

* See " Passages in the Life of a Radical."

ANOTHER GEE AT CHANGE. 93

for him; no '* compensation " for his irreparable losses. If
this was scarcely just towards himself, as an individual, it was
still less so towards his children who were turned into the
world, " shorn to the quick " ; fatherless now, as well as
motherless ; for in most essential matters he was no longer
a guardian to them. Two of the three never afterwards had
a home under the same roof with him.

It was a cold winter's afternoon when my brother and I,
with our bundles under our arms, took our way up Bed Bank
on the road to Middleton. We had been instructed to keep
on the high road, for there had been a heavy fall of snow
followed by a strong wind, and the snow was now drifting in
clouds. Over Cheetham Hill we hobbled along, knocking the
thick snow-clogs from our shoes, our hands thrust into our
pockets, and our jackets buttoned up to the chin. Coming to
the summit of Bowker Bank, where the wind swept fast and
cold, I asked my brother why he kept wiping his eyes ? He
said it was only the snow he was wiping off, but I knew better,
and though not exactly in a joyous mood myself, I endeavoured
to rally him out of his gloomy bodings of the future.

It was towards the close of the day when we arrived at the
house of my uncle William, which was in High Street in the
town mentioned. We presented a letter from my father, and
were received with kindness by the worthy couple, whilst their
three children looked on us with a bashful and pleased reserve.
We joined the circle at their homely meal, and my uncle and
aunt not having convenience for lodging us, we were accommo-
dated temporarily at the house of another relative.

The row of houses in which my uncle lived faced the morn-
ing sun ; a neatly paved footpath, and a causey for carts, lay
in front of the houses from one end of the row to the other ;
and separated from the houses by the causey and footpath was
a large green, used as a playground. My uncle's domicile,
hke all the others, consisted of one principal room called ** the
house " ; on the same floor with this was a loom-shop capable
of containing four looms, and in the rear of the house on the
same floor, were a small kitchen and a buttery. Over the
house and loom- shop were chambers ; and over the kitchen

94 EABLY DAYS.

and buttery was another small apartment, and a flight of
stairs. The whole of the rooms were lighted by windows of
small square panes, framed in lead, in good condition ; those
in the front being protected by shutters. The interior of this
dwelHng showed that cleanly and comfortable appearance
which is always to be seen where a managing Englishwoman
is present. There were a dozen good rush-bottomed chairs,
the backs and rails bright with wax and rubbing ; a handsome
clock in mahogany case ; a good chest of oaken drawers ; a
mahogany snap-table ; a mahogany corner cupboard, all well
polished; besides tables, weather-glass, cornice, and orna-
ments ; pictures illustrative of Joseph and his Brethren, and
various other articles indicative of a regard for convenience as
well as ornament. And though last enumerated, not the least
to be regarded by a hungry youth of my age, was a large
bread-flake well stored with oaten cakes.

My uncle's family consisted of himself, my aunt (EUzabeth),
their son Thomas, and their two daughters Hannah and Dolly.
Thomas was a rather thoughtful and clever lad, a year or two
older than myself ; Hannah was a neat, good-looking girl of
my own age ; and Dolly was a fair, delicate, and sadly spoiled
child. My aunt, that sister of my father whom I have before
mentioned, was rather tall for a woman ; dark complexioned,
middle aged, somewhat corpulent, fresh coloured, intelligent
looking, and with an arch and penetrating manner of conversa-
tion. She took snuff, wore a mob-cap, a bed-gown, a stiff pair
of stays which stood out at the bosom, a warm woollen petti-
coat, white knitted hose, and shoes with patten clogs to keep
her feet warm. She was asthmatical, and consequently often
in delicate health, but as her chief employment was to sit at
the wheel winding bobbins for the weavers, her complaint was
less embarrassing than it would have been had she been neces-
sitated to do the heavy drudgery of the house, much of which
her daughter Hannah performed. My uncle was of the middle
height, rather corpulent, about fifty years of age, good looking,
a quiet, sententious, equable tempered man, who took his
work, his meals, his pipe, and his repose regularly, and seldom
troubled himself about affairs out of his own house. Not but

ANOTHEB GEE AT CHANGE. 96

he had opinions and wishes, both rehgious and political, and
they were all on the right liberal side, but he did not make
a parade of them. He was both in theory and practice a
Christian patriot of the old, simple, unpretending class, who
not being gifted with a multiplicity of words, gave lessons to
his family by example. His mind was, I believe, as intention-
less of wilful offence as that of an infant ; but he possessed
a sturdy resistance to wrong or menace, which would have
verily held him to be martyred sooner than give way. This
worthy couple were Methodists of the old John Wesley caste,
which prevailed in those days ; their children were brought
up in the same religious tenets, and with this family of
humble but respectable condition my lot was cast thus once
more in the place of my birth.

CHAPTEE X.

A NEW LIFE.

My brother was now set down to the loom at once, whilst my
employment was to fetch milk every morning, to run to the
well for water when wanted, to go errands generally, and to
assist my aunt at times in the bobbin-winding department —
all of which suited my disposition and habits most pleasingly,
except the latter piece of bondage, which on account of its
monotonous confinement soon became abhorrent to my feelings ;
and had not my frequent escapades in the way of errand
running allowed me many sweet snatches of freedom my
situation would have been far from happy.

In the performance of my task of fetching home the milk
every morning I soon became acquainted with several children
of my own age who attended the same place on the same '
errand. During my loitering perambulations to and from
Hollin Lane, where the milk-house was, I had sometimes the
attendance of two or three such companions, who caught every
word I spoke, as I described the strange things to be seen at
Manchester, and the still more wondrous ones of which I had
read, and which accounts I was quite sure were true. But
soon my most constant attendant on these occasions was a
little smiling, rosy-cheeked child, who was almost certain to
be found standing alone by the highway side, or loitering
slowly until I appeared. I took not any particular notice of
the girl; I was a tall, straight, pale-looking boy, whilst she
appeared to me nothing more than a kind of little human
cherry-bud, who was always the first to join my company, and ^
the last to leave it.

) t

A NEW LIFE, 97

At the milk-house we often found an assemblage of a dozen
married women, two or three young ones, an old man or two,
and some half- score or so of children, all come on the like
errand as ourselves, and waiting until the milk arrived. Mean-
time there would be some snatches of scandal turned over —
sly insinuations respecting " this body's character " and ** that
body's conduct." Some would treat themselves and neighbours
to snuff ; others would take a whiff or so of tobacco, *' just to
keep the wind off," whilst the woman of the house, " Owd Beet
wife," sat croning at her wheel, and her daughter, a flashy
lass, was on her loom weaving napkins, and singing love ditties
like a nightingale. When the milk arrived, all the persons
waiting surrounded it, and there was much pressing and
entreating to be served early by those who were impatient ; at
such times I was often useful to my little cherry-bud, and my
other youthful companions, in making a way for them through
the crowd, and when they had got served with milk they would
retire, and wait until I joined them ; and then we all returned
together, interchanging our childish observations as before.
But the little cherry-bud was nearly always on the road with
me, going and coming, whilst I had the company of the others
only incidentally.

Her name was Jemima, but I knew her only by that of
Mima, and by that alone shall I distinguish her. Like myself
she lived with an uncle and aunt, who had taken charge of her
when only an infant. What I was virtually also, she was in
reality, an orphan, and when I became aware of her condition
in that respect, I felt a greater interest in whatever concerned
her — I was more desirous of pleasing her, and of rendering
her any little service which lay in my power. Nor was she
indifferent to anything which affected me ; when in moments
of sadness I sometimes reverted to my mother's well-remem-
bered fondness, or the kindness of my uncle Thomas, or to my
father's tender regard, whose absence I deeply felt, and whom
I now seldom saw, she, who had never known either father or
mother, would often be moved until her full heart overflowed
from her eyes. She became a very agreeable and always
welcome companion on the road — a child to whom, because

VOL. I. 7

98 EABLY DAYS.

she had no parents, I felt bound to be kind, but nothing
more.

The mode of Hving at my uncle's was of the simplest country
style. At breakfast, a brown earthen dish being placed on a
Iqw beaufet '•' near the middle of the floor, a boiling of water
porridge was poured into the dish, hot from the pan. A mess-
pot of the same material as the dish was placed for each one
about to partake of the breakfast, a quantity of milk and a
spoon were placed in each pot, my uncle took a seat and asked
a blessing, each of the children of the family standing around ;
we then took our several messes of milk, and helped ourselves
to the steaming porridge as quickly as we chose, and mixing
and eating in the manner we liked best, not a word being
spoken all the time. The porridge being scraped up, which
theyt in general were rather quickly, each would take a piece
of hard oaten cake and eat it to the remainder of his milk,
after which a little butter, or a small piece of cheese, with
more oaten bread, would finish the meal, and in a few minutes
work was resumed. My aunt would shortly after make her
appearance, her face red, and herself distressed with coughing ;
the kettle would then be set on for her, and when the asthmatic
paroxysm had sufficiently abated she took her breakfast and
sat down to her wheel. Our dinners consisted generally of
butcher's meat and potatoes, or potato-pie, or meat and broth,
or barm dumplings, or drink porridge, or hasty pudding, and
in each case the food was partaken in the same primitive
manner. When we had meat and potatoes each had an allow-
ance of the meat on a piece of oat-cake, and the potatoes being
poured into a dish placed on the beaufet as before, we all stood
round, and with spoon or knife, as we chose, ate from the dish
so long as the potatoes lasted, after which we stole out to play,
eating our remnant of butcher's meat and cake the while.
There was not a word heard until we got out of doors, and
then we were as noisy as others. When we had potato-pie for
dinner an allowance of the crust was given to each ; the potatoes

* A low three-legged stool, called in the north buffet-stool,
t Porridge used to be described in the plural number.

A NEW LIFE. 99

were then eaten out of the dish as before, and the crust, as
being the most dainty, was eaten afterwards. When we had
broth each received a mess for himself, to which he added as
much oaten cake as he chose ; the potatoes were eaten out of
the dish, and the meat being served in portions, each ate it
with cake at his leisure. When we had dumplings they were
set on the beaufet in the same brown dish, or one of the sort ;
a little dip was made from the water the dumplings had been
boiled in, a lump of butter and a little sugar or treacle being
added ; the dip was then poured upon the dumplings, and we
fell to and ate as we liked, the only restriction being that there
was not to be any talking at meat. How different was this
sententious and becoming manner at table from the one which
now prevails around fashionable boards, where, if a person
cannot, or will not, both gabble and gobble at the same time,
he is looked upon as vulgar, and where the highest test of good
breeding is to keep both chin and tongue — the latter especially
— in motion, it matters not on what subject if it only elicit not
a thought. Such is one of the puerilities by which insane pride
seeks to be distinguished from the thoughtful and earnest
portion of society. Our bagging, or afternoon lunch, consisted
of half an oaten cake, with butter, treacle, cheese, or milk, as
circumstances rendered most convenient, and our supper was
generally the same as breakfast. On Sunday mornings we
had mint or balm tea, sweetened with treacle, and oaten cake
and butter ; on Sunday afternoons we had tea of the same kind,
and a slice of buttered loaf was added, which was an especial
dainty.

CHAPTEE XI,

SCHOOLING — COBBECTION — PRAYER.

At this time the Methodists of Middleton kept a Sunday school
in their chapel at Bottom of Barrowfields, and this school we
young folks all attended. I was probably a far better speller
and reader than any teacher in the place, and I had not gone
there very long when I was set to writing. I soon mastered
the rudimental lines, and quitting "pot-hooks and ladles," as
they were called, I commenced writing ''large-hand." For
the real old Arminian Methodists, the immediate descendants
of the Wesleys, the Nelsons, and the Taylors, thought it no
desecration of the Sabbath to enable the rising generation on
that day to write the Word of God as well as to read it. Had
the views and very commendable practice of these old fathers
been continued in Sunday schools generally, the reproach
would not have been cast upon our labouring population, as
it was on the publication of the census of 1841, that a greater
proportion of the working classes of Lancashire were unable
to write their names than were to be found in several counties
less favoured by means of instruction. Tlie modern Methodists
may boast of this feat as their especial work. The Church
party never undertook to instruct in writing on Sundays ; the
old Arminian Wesleyans did undertake it, and succeeded,
wonderfully, but the Conferential Methodists put a stop to
it ; other religious bodies, if I am not mistaken, did the same,
and in 1841 it was a matter of surprise to many that our
working population was behind that of other counties in the
capability of writing names. Let the honour of this stoppage
be assumed by those who have earned it, by the " ministers of

100

SCHOOLING. 101

religion," so called, generally, and by those of the Conferential
Methodists especially.

Every Sunday morning at half-past eight o'clock was this
old Methodists school open for the instruction of whatever
child crossed its threshold. A hymn was first led out and sung
by the scholars and teachers. An extempore prayer followed,
all the scholars and teachers kneeling at their places ; the
classes, ranging from those of the spelling-book to those of the
Bible, then commenced their lessons, girls in the gallery above,
and boys below. Desks which could either be moved up or
down, like the leaf of a table, were arranged all round the
school, against the walls of the gallery, as well as against those
below, and at measured distances the walls were numbered.
Whilst the Bible and Testament classes were reading their
first lesson the desks were got ready, inkstands and copy-books
numbered, containing copies and pens, were placed opposite
corresponding numbers on the wall ; and when the lesson was
concluded the writers took their places, each at his own num-
ber, and so continued their instruction. When the copy was
finished, the book was shut and left on the desk, a lesson of
spelling was gone through, and at twelve o'clock singing and
prayer again took place, and the scholars were dismissed. At
one o'clock there was service in the chapel, and soon after two
the school reassembled, girls now occupying the writing desks,
as boys had done in the forenoon, and at four or half -past the
scholars were sent home for the week.

My readers will expect hearing that the school was well
attended, and it was so, not only by children and youths of
the immediate neighbourhood, but by young men and women
from distant localities. Big collier lads and their sisters from
Siddal Moor were regular in their attendance. From the bor-
ders of Whittle, from Bowlee, from the White Moss, from
Jumbo, and Chadderton, and Thornham, came groups of boys
and girls with their substantial dinners tied in clean napkins,
and the little chapel was so crowded that when the teachers
moved they had to wade, as it were, through the close-ranked
youngsters.

My father having been appointed to the situation of governor

102 EARLY DAYS.

of the workhouse of Salford, with his wife as governess, I was
placed as a half-day scholar under the tuition of the Eev. James
Archer, at the Middleton Free Grammar School. I soon began
to improve in writing. This indulgence of schoohng lasted,
however, only during a very brief space, for my aunt, in con-
sequence of her own ill-health, becoming more and more exacting
in the hateful drudgery of the bobbin-wheel, I was not able to
perform my allotted task in time for school attendance, which,
therefore, soon became irregular, and was next discontinued.

As before intimated, my connection with this school was
brief, and then, with the exception of Bible lessons at the
Sunday school, all my reading was done at home, after the
daily task was finished. When not strongly tempted to play
I was almost certain to be reading by the summer's twilight,
or by the red embers of the winter's fire, my books being
chiefly " Wesley's Journals," and '* The Arminian Magazine,"
wherein I found " Maundrell's Travels from Aleppo to Jeru-
salem," which I was very much interested by ; "An Account
of the Inquisition in Spain," which filled me with a dislike of
Popery ; '' The Drummer of Tedworth ;" " Some Account of
the Disturbances at Glenluce ; " '' An Account of the Appa-
rition of the Laird of Cool " — and other most marvellous
narratives, which excited my attention, and held me poring
over the ashes until the light was either gone or I was sent to
bed. I also got hold of an old superstitious doctoring book,
which gave me some unexpected information relative to the
human frame, and equally surprised me as to the occult powers
of certain herbs and simples, when prepared under supposed
planetary aspects. A copy of Cocker's Arithmetic soon after
set me to writing figures and casting accounts, in which I
made but slow progress ; and part of a small volume of " The
History of England," which I found in rummaging an old
meal ark, gave me the first insight into the chronicles of my
native country.

Whilst my life at the bobbin- wheel was wretched on account
of the confinement, my poor old aunt had generally a sad time
with me. It was scarcely to be expected that a tall, straight,
round-limbed young ruffian like myself, with bare legs and

CORRECTION. 103

feet, bare neck, and a head equally denuded, save by a crop of
thick coarse hair, should sit day by day twirling a wheel and
guiding a thread ; his long limbs cramped and doubled under
a low wooden stool. Eor I may observe that the clothes with
which I left Manchester having been worn out, I went in the
week-days of summer time never hosed, and but scantily
draped, except Sundays, when a decent suit was at my service.
I accordingly at times, from a sheer inability to sit still, played
all kind of pranks, and threw myself into all kinds of attitudes,
keeping my wheel going the while, lest my aunt should have it
to say I was playing and neglecting my task. I generally sat
near her at work, and I must confess that I sometimes ex-
hibited these antics from a wish to provoke rather than amuse
my observant and somewhat irritable overseer. On these
occasions I frequently got a rap on the head from a weaver's
rod which my aunt would have beside her, whereupon I would
move out of her reach and continue " marlockin " until I got
either more correction, or was despatched on an errand, or
banished into the ** loom-house " amongst the weavers. Then,
when my uncle went into the house to smoke his pipe, which
he generally did in the forenoon and afternoon, my aunt half
diverted, half provoked, would give him the history of my
pranks and my " flitting," as she would call it, when he would
laugh until tears filled his eyes, or his pipe snapped in twain
— for he used to sit quite at his ease, with the tube pendant
from his mouth — and on his returning to his loom, he would
admonish me sharply, or more commonly would question me
as to the cause of the rupture — pretending not to know about
it, — and would conclude by advising me to be submissive to
my aunt, and by all means to keep on good terms with the
mistress of the house wherever I dwelt. I was certainly so
good tempered and cheerful they scarcely could be long dis-
pleased with me for all my faults, and so these little darkenings
passed like cloud spots, and presently all was bright again.
The most serious rupture which I had with my aunt was
occasioned by an act of wilful disobedience on my part. She
dealt out to me a certain number of hanks and cops which I
was to have wound by '' bagging- time," in the afternoon, or

104 EARLY DAYS.

beaten I certainly should be. I sat at my wheel and made not
any reply, determining not to wind them, as I thought the
task unreasonable, and that she was, in this instance, acting
arbitrarily. I continued, therefore, to turn the wheel .very
deliberately, indeed, rather carelessly, until the time appointed
had expired, when my aunt, laying hold of a stout rod, began
to lay it upon my back and across my shoulders, which she did
until she was spent for breath, I but little flinching all the
time ; she seemed rather puzzled by my coolness, whilst I was
equally diverted by her embarrassment ; at length, being quite
exhausted, she stood looking at me with an air of vexation,
and suddenly began to hit me on the legs, which set me a
capering, and made me run out of the house, and remain
away until the storm was blown over. With a determination
to incur the beating, and a knowledge that I should have it,
I had got two thin boards, part of an orange box, which I put
under my waistcoat, so as to cover each shoulder blade, and
buttoning waistcoat and jacket over them, I was well encased
against my poor aunt's weak blows, so long as they were
applied to the defended parts. My comical expedient caused
more suppressed laughter in the family than anger ; and when
I returned into the house again, looking rather dolorous of
course, I could perceive that my aunt had got quite enough
of the beating as well as myself, whilst my uncle at his next
smoking bout, — I being banished as usual into the loom-shop,
where I could see but not hear him, — sat and laughed until
his corpulent frame shook as if he would have fallen out of
his chair, and then he came to his work without reprimanding
me.

About this time I had a sincere desire to become religious ;
and I earnestly prayed, in my way, that God would awaken
rae to a strong sense of my ** sinful and lost state," and would
make me cry out as in agony for my " manifold transgres-
sions "—amongst which losing my Bible once, when I went a
bee-hunting instead of coming home from school, covert dis-
obedience to my uncle and aunt, and carelessness after prayer,
were to me the most prominent. I wished, like Saul, to be
convinced and converted whether or not ; to be " arrested in

PBAYEB, 105

my career " by an irresistible arm, for I felt almost certain
that if I never forsook sin until I did so voluntarily, and from
my very heart, there was great danger of my never doing so.
I was as sincere, however, as I could be — as I well knew
how to be, and often I expected to have '* a call," like my
name-sake of old, when I would reply, **Lord! Thy servant
heareth." But there was no call for me ; my obdurate heart
remained " unbroken by the hammer of the word," and some-
how it happened that my longest and most fervent prayers
were made on my visits to the little chamber upstairs, when
instead of being on my knees, I ought to have been looking out
cops and hanks to wind for my weavers. Thus it was, I would
have either sung, or prayed, or I believe, I should have done
any other thing, sinful or devout, that would have kept me from
the hated wheel. I came to the conclusion that God never did
nor ever would take the trouble to convince one of my con-
dition, and that there was no rehgion in the world that could
ever make a bobbin-winder content with his lot ; — and so
ended, at that time, my efforts for obtaining grace.

CHAPTEE XII.

A HOME-BEARING, A DINNER, AND A MASTER INDEED.

As I was getting rather too unmanageable for my aunt at the
bobbin-wheel, fortunately in this respect for both her and my-
self, my brother went to reside at Manchester, and a vacancy
thus occurring on one of the looms, I was transferred to it, and
became a weaver. At the Sunday school also I was promoted
from being a scholar to a ruler of copybooks, a cutter of pens,
and an attendant generally on the writers ; one of whom being
Mima, '' the little cherry-bud," I took care she should always
have a clean copy and a new pen. She had become a frequent
visitor at our house, and a close companion to my cousin
Hannah, who for some time had slept with her at her uncle's.
Having now become an active lad, and, from my good
temper and wilUngness to perform any service, now that the
abhorrent wheel was not in the way, had made some advances
into the kindly feelings of my aunt and uncle, I was at times
chosen to assist the latter when he took the work home to
Manchester. The family were, at that time, chiefly employed
by Messrs. Samuel and James Broadbent, of Cannon Street,
and as the work was for the most part ''pollicat" and **romoH"
handkerchiefs, with a finer reed, occasionally, of silk and
cotton "garments," or handkerchiefs, the "bearing-home
wallet " was often both bulky and heavy ; and when it
happened to be too much so for one person to carry, a neigh-
bour's wallet would be borrowed, the burden divided into two,
and I would go with one part over my shoulder, behind or
before my uncle. He being, as already stated, rather heavy in
person would walk deliberately, with a stick in his hand, his

106

A HOME'BEABINGy A DINNER, A MASTER INDEED. 107

green woollen apron twisted round his waist, his clean shirt
showing at the open breast of his waistcoat, his brown silk
handkerchief wrapped round his neck, a quid of tobacco in
his mouth, and a broad and rather slouched hat on his head.
So would he appear when setting out on a '* bearing-home "
journey ; whilst I, with my smaller wallet, with my rough
jacket, my knee breeches, my strong stockings and shoes, my
open collared shirt, and pleasure aiid glee in my heart and
countenance, footed the way as light somely as a young colt.

The warehouse of Messrs. Broadbent was nearly at the top
of Cannon Street, on the right-hand side. We mounted some
steps, went along a covered passage, and up a height or two of
stairs, to a landing place, one side of which was railed off by
the bannister, and the other furnished with a seat for weavers
to rest upon when they arrived. Here we should probably
, find some half-dozen weavers and winders, waiting for their
turn to deliver in their work and to receive fresh material ;
and the business betwixt workman and putter-out was gener-
ally done in an amicable, reasonable way. No captious fault-
finding, no bullying, no arbitrary abatement, which have been
too common since, were then practised. If the work were
really faulty, the weaver was shown the fault, and if it were
not a serious one he was only cautioned against repeating it ;
if the length or the weight was not what it should be, he was
told of it, and would be expected to set it right, or account for
it, at his next bearing-home, and if he were a frequent de-
faulter he was no longer employed. But very rarely indeed
- did it happen that any transaction bearing the appearance of
an advantage being taken against the workman by the putter-
out was heard of in those days.

It would sometimes happen that warp or weft would not
be ready until after dinner, and on such occasions, my uncle
having left his wallet in care of the putter-out, would go down-
stairs and get paid at the counting-house, and from thence
go to the public-house where we lunched on bread and cheese,
or cold meat and bread, with ale, to which my uncle added
his ever-favourite pipe of tobacco. This house, which was
the ''Hope and Anchor," in the old churchyard, was also

108 EARLY DAYS.

frequented by other weavers; the putter-out at Broadbents
generally dined there in the parlour, and when he had dined
he would come and take a glass of ale, smoke his pipe, and
chat with the weavers, after which, my uncle would again
go to the warehouse, and getting what material he wanted,
would buy a few groceries and tobacco in the town, or
probably, as we returned through the apple market, to go
down Long Mill Gate, he would purchase a peck of apples,
and giving them to me to carry, we wended towards home, I,
by permission, making pretty free with the apples by the way.
Before leaving the town my uncle would probably call at the
*' Queen Anne," in Long Mill Gate, to see if there were any
suitable company going our way; if there were, we took a
glass until all were ready, and then we walked on together.
Another calling house was Schofield's, at Scotland Bridge, and
the last in the town was the ''Flower Pot," on Ked Bank. In
winter time, and especially when day was closing, the weavers
preferred thus returning in groups, for the road was not
altogether free of foot-pads any more than at present. In hot
summer weather, the weavers would sometimes indulge them-
selves by a ride in a cart, or they would leave their heavy bur-
dens at the "Three Crowns," in Cock Gates, to be forwarded by
Abraham Lees, the Middleton carrier. When a party of
weavers returned in company, they would generally make a
halt at Blackley, either at the ** White Lion," or at Travis's, the
" Golden Lion," over the way. There the wallets, or *' pokes "
as they were mostly called, were piled in a heap, ale was
ordered, seats drawn round the fire, pipes were soon lighted,
news interchanged with the host or some of his company;
half an hour, or sometimes more, was thus spent, when the
shot being called and paid, the travellers took their wallets
and climbing the Hill lane, were soon at home. Such was " a
bearing-home day " to Manchester in those times.

But even those days, advantageous as they certainly were
when compared with the present ones which are devoted to a
similar errand, were considered as being greatly altered for
the worse since the days which could be spoken of from
remembrance. The two classes of workmen and employer

JsrWJMM^EEABING, A DINNER, A MASTER INDEED, 109

were already at too great a distance from each other, and it
was a subject of observation that the masters were becoming
more and more proud and upHfted each day. Some had seen
the time when, on taking their work home, and material not
being ready, a dialogue like the following would take place.

Master. — Well, William, there will be no piece for thee till
afternoon.

Weaver. — Very well, I'll wait for it then ; wot time munni
come, think'n yo ?

Master. — Why, it's nearly dinner time now, and if thou'll
go an' have a bit o' dinner wi' me, th' work will, mayhap, be
ready when we come back.

Weaver. — Thank yo, mester, I'll goo wi' yo then.

So master and man would walk together to some decent-
looking house, ,in some decent, quiet street, where the master,
his wife, his children, and the guest, would sit down to a
plain, substantial dinner of broth most likely, with dumphng
and meat, or roast beef and baked pudding, or a steaming
potato-pie ; after which, master and workman would sit with
their ale and pipes, talking about whatever most concerned
themselves ; and it were no undue stretch of imagination to
suppose that a conversation somewhat like the following
would take place — the lady of the house also being present
with her knitting.

Master. — Well, William, an' how are you going on at your
side o' th' country ?

Weaver. — Pratty weel, mester, only they're begun a screwin
op rents, and ar reyther niblin' at wages.

Master. — Aye ; who's screwin' up rents ?

Weaver. — Yon new felley ats comn to th' Hoe ses he mun
ha' three shillin' a acre moor fro his Middlet'n tennants th'
next hawve yer.

Master. — That's a bad beginnin' ; but I always thought yon
Norfolk landlord would alter th' strip of old Sir Eaphe's cloth.
An' what do the tenants say about that ?

Weaver. — Wot con the say? they're ill enoof obeawt it
yomay besure. They grumbln confoundedly, an' sen iv Lady
Mary had nobbut wed Sir Asht'n isted o' yon Sir Hury
Byert, Middlet'n had nere ha lookt behind it agen.

110 EABLY DAYS.

Master. — And who has been nibblin' at wages, as thou wert
saying ?

Weaver. — Why, Snidgers yonder, at th' Hedgelone. They
sen, at-te bated a hawpenny a peawnd th' last Setturday, at
ther broad-ribb'd fustian ; an' Hook-thum an' Son, o' Hollin-
wood, bated sixpence a cut th' Monday afore.

Master. — These are two very bad moves i'th' way o'
business, and I hope the examples will not be followed,
William; it's not the way to *' live an' let live," which ought
to be the rule always betwixt master and workman.

Weaver. — It ought so to be, indeed, mestur; yo sen true,
an' I only wish at o' mesters wurn o' yore mind ; th' warkman
wud then be sure o' havin' a just consideration for his wark.
An' iv th' mesturs did'n but know wot a peawer they ban for
makin' bad things an' marrin' good uns, they'dn stop, an' look
afore 'em, ere they gan way to sitch a grabbin' o' money.

Master. — What thou says is right, William ; and I am glad
to hear that one of my weavers has so much good thought in
him. " Live an' let live," is accordin' to Jesus Christ's rule,
and whatever master gets his money by a rule different from
that — rich, beyond measure, though he become — happy he
never can be either in this world or the next ; an' that is an
awful consideration, is it not, William ?

Weaver. — It is, mester; it's awful to think that a mon
shall be tryeadin' o' carpets an' ridin' in coaches to-day, an'
tryeadin' o' brimstone an' rowlin' i' hell foyer to-morn.

Master. — And yet it must be so, with unjust employers, or
truth in God's Holy Word there is none. Hitherto, however,
we cotton masters and our workmen have gone nearly hand in
hand together. There have been blamable characters on both
sides certainly, but generally speaking, they have acted pretty
fairly towards each other. Has it not been so, William ?

Weaver. — It has bin mostly as yo sen, mester.

Master. — And I do greatly wish it may so continue. But
I am afraid, William — I am afraid this insatiable thirst after
money and power, which is now making great progress
amongst mankind, will, in the end, divide the masters and
workmen of this country, making the former into a set of

A HOME-BEABING, A DINNEE, A MASTER INDEED. Ill

tyrants, and the latter into a fearful multitude of moody,
hateful slaves.

Weaver. — I hope thattle not be i' yore days, nor mine
noather, mester.

Master. — I hope it will not come to pass soon, William ; but
I fear it will come eventually. I hear almost every day a new
dogma quoted, namely, that the great principle of commerce
is *' to buy at the cheapest, and sell at the dearest, market."
I cannot act upon it. It is not honest — it is not Christian
like — it is not wise. Let us try this vaunted principle,
William, by the test of honesty — by the test of "Do thou
unto others as thou wouldest they should do unto thee" —
and there is no better test of right and wrong under heaven.
Suppose thou and thy family were distressed from want of
employment ; and thou came to me asking for work, and I,
knowing thy situation, purchased thy labour '' at the cheapest
rate at which I could get it," and sold it again at the dearest,
putting the profit screwed out of thy necessities into my
pocket — suppose I did so — should I be acting like a Christian?
like an honest, conscientious man ?

Mistress. — Dear Thomas, I know you will never act in that
manner : it would cover us with self-reproach ; and neither
you, nor I, nor the children, would ever become rich in the
true riches of contentment, whatever were the wealth in gold,
which we obtained by such unworthy means.

Weaver. — Kind Madam, yo're very good and considerate
tord us worchin' fokes, and God will, I hope, bless yo and
yores, for the worthy use 'at yo mak'n o' yore prosperity.

Mistress. — Thank you, William; come take a little more ale,
and help yourself to tobacco. I assure you, I am always glad
to see a honest working man or woman at my table.

Weaver. — Yore good yealth, mam; and yore good yealth,
sir ; an' happiness to yursels an o' yur family.

Master. — Thank you, William; and the same to you and
your family.

Weaver. — I'm oblig'd t'yo, sir. An' neaw I'm thinkin',
Suppos', as yo sed'n afore, 'at yo bought 'n my necessitous
labour at th' lowest price 'at yo cud'n get it at, an' sowd'n it

112 EABLY DAYS.

at th* heeist, an' isted o' puttin' o' th' profit i' yore own
pocket, yo gan me th' tone hawve on it — wudno that doo ?

Master (laughing).— Why, yes, William, that would do
very well, I should think ; but then thou knows, the principle
of "buying at the cheapest," would be in that case given up,
and I should be paying thee more for thy labour ^than I bar-
gained for, and there would be an end of the vaunted dogma
of trade which we have been talking about. There are other
dogmas, however, William, which, though they are not so
plausible, nor so much in vogue as the one we have been
discussing, are, in my opinion, quite as practicable, and far
more just.

Weaver. — I shudbe fain to yer 'em explaint, sir.

Master.— We will say at once, then, that *' the labourer
* should be deemed worthy' of his hire," and that he should
have it also.

Weaver. — Good, sir.

Master. — That the hire of the labourer should never be less
than what was sufficient to feed him, to clothe him, and to
furnish him with the necessaries of a comfortable existence.
This should be an inevitable condition of all labour.

Weaver. — Very good. '

Master. — The cost of labour being thus immutably deter-
mined, all other costs would depend on supply and demand.
With this condition, trade would be an honest and respectable
vocation. Without this condition, fair trade cannot exist, for
it ceases to be trade, and becomes spoliation, ruin, and dis-
honour.

Weaver. — That's graidly true. A trade 'at dusno pay th*
warkmon for his wark is no trade at o, but a robbery an' a
disgrace to th' country.

Master. — Just so. When, therefore, our commercial men
talk about " buying in the cheapest, and selling in the dearest,
market," they should always except human labour in their
calculation. It is the bread and the means of existence of our
fellow- beings, and it ought not, under any circumstances,
to be placed in competition with mere money making, nor
wantonly exposed to vicissitude. Sacredly inviolable it ought

A HOME-BEARING, A DINNER, A MASTER INDEED. 113

ever to be held. It is the source of all wealth, of all national
strength and vitality, and the least price that should ever
be given for it ought to be an ample sufficiency of all the
necessaries of life. " Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that
treadeth out the corn." Now, "William, thou knowest what my
** cheapest market" for wages will ever be; for if it happens
that I can no longer give my workpeople the means for a
comfortable subsistence in return for their labour, I will cease
to employ them.

Weaver. — I wud 'at that mornin' may never oppen it een,
at ony rate.

Master. — Now we will go back to the warehouse, and I will
find thee a warp and weft at the old price.

Mistress. — Farewell, William, and give my respects to your
good- wife at home.

Weaver. — I will, Madam. An' mony thanks for yur kynd-
niss.^

VOL. I, ' 8

CHAPTEE XIII.

PBAYER MEETINGS — A BOGGART — CHRISTIAN INSTRUCTION.

t ,

My companions at this time were about half a dozen of as wild
and gamesome beings as could be found in our neighbourhood-
Very demure and reserved were we whilst under the eyes of
our guardians or parents, but the moment we were beyond;
their ken our license for gambol and mirth was as great as
had been our restraint. At Sunday school we were regular
attendants, and each went away with his crumb of instruction.
At the sermons we were frequently present, but from those
meetings we generally departed as unregenerate as we came.
What could our young heads or hearts make of the mysteries
and creeds of the pulpit ? They were strange, certainly ;
wonderfully incomprehensible were these matters which the
preachers tried to impress on us ; undeniable also as the fact
of our own existence appeared to our unreasoning minds — the
certainty that we must be either *' born again," or damned
eternally. So we sang when others sang, we prayed when
others prayed, we sat out the sermon, sang and prayed again,
when, hungry and impatient, we ran home to our meals, and
then stole out to play. Sometimes the religious observances
of the Methodists were sought by us as opportunities for rude
sport. One place was in particular a favourite resort of ours.
About once a month, a number of the most gifted members of
the Methodists' society went over from Middleton to hold a
prayer meeting at the house of Samuel Hamer, in Grunsha
Lane. Mr. Hamer was a small farmer possessing some little
property ; he and his wife had recently become converts to
Methodism. That respectable and very loving couple, with

114

PBA YEB-MEE TINGS. 115

their only child, a son, were constant attendants at the chapel
at Middleton, and were as exemplary in their duties as they
were zealous in the propagation of their new religion. Mrs.
Hamer was a clever, talented, good-looking woman ; one likely
to be influential, for she had an uncommon " gift of prayer,"
and as the house in Grunsha Lane was in a district bordering
on Tonge, Alkrington, and Chadderton, where " Satan had as
yet many strongholds," these prayers were looked on as so
many assaults on " the powers of the Prince of the Air." The
leaders of the meeting generally assembled at Samuel Smith's,
who lived at the corner of Union Street, Middleton. There
would perhaps be half-a-dozen of men, a woman or two, and a
party of us lads. With coats buttoned up, lanthorns lighted,
and sticks in hand, the men led the way, the women following,
and the boys hovering sometimes before, sometimes behind.
When, however, we were fairly in the fields, one of our party
of lads would be missing ; a whistle would be heard through
the darkness, and loitering behind until the men and women
were at a distance, we would set off as we could, helter-skelter,
over hedge and ditch in quest of the whistler. This, especially
on dark gusty nights, when we could scarcely hear each other's
voices, and often became lost for a time, was fine, exciting
sport. .A low yell, like that of a hound, would occasionally
recall us to the pack, or to some comrade thrown out of the
way like one's self. Then there were particular places where
one did not like to be quite alone, lest we fell in with company
other than mortal. Such were Babylon Brow, going up to the
heights of Tonge, and Tonge Wood, a thick dark plantation,
and Tonge Springs, fairy-haunted, and its brook -bubbling
sounds, like human words. On fine moonlight nights also,
during the chase, things would be sometimes seen, and sounds
heard, which one could not exactly make out ; and as these
added to the spirit of adventure, and were seldom of a
decidedly terrific character, they served but to increase our
excitement and relish of the pastime. When at the meeting,
a hymn having been sung, and a prayer or two made, on
a signal being given, we would sUp out without exciting notice,
and have another hunt over the fields and across the hedges,

116 EARLY DAYS,

after which we returned, joined in the concluding devotions,
and came home, our good guardians little dreaming of the
sinful manner in which we had spent the holy Sabbath evening.
On one of these night adventures I was certainly rather startled
by what took place. My comrades had set out and left me
behind, and in order to overtake them, I began to run, and
had not run far, when I saw one before me running also,
whom I seemed to be gaining ground upon fast. I soon made
him out to be a lad of our party whom I knew I could easily

outrun, and I chuckled at the idea of mortifying him by

passing him at full speed, as I intended to do. When I got
nearer I called out, but he still kept onward, making no answer.
When close behind him I shouted, ** Bill ! Bill ! why so fast ? "
but there was no notice — no reply — which I thought rather
strange, and when I came abreast of him, I said in a tone of
defiance, *• Come on, then, and see whot theawrt short of,"
and darting past him like an arrow, I turned my head with an
air of triumph, and saw a face — not Bill's, but that of one who
had been dead many years. I now ran in earnest to get rid of
him, but on looking back, saw he was within a few yards of
my heels. He seemed almost to sweep the ground, whilst I .
passed the low fields betwixt Tonge Springs and Grunsha Lane,
I know not how, but at an incredibly swift pace. In the lane
he was still close behind me, and when I turned towards the
door of the meeting-house, there was nothing to be seen or
heard, save the tone of one in earnest prayer, and the frequent < >
responses of ** Amen, Amen." The lad whom I had set out to
run against was inside on his knees, and I crept beside him
and prayed more really in earnest that night than I had done
during a long time before. I never mentioned the circumstance
to my comrades lest I should get laughed at by them, or be
seriously questioned and admonished by the elder Methodists if
it came to their knowledge. Poor Bill was afterwards killed
at Talavera ; as good a specimen of dogged straight-forward
John BuUistn was he, as ever left England. Mr. Hamer died
suddenly in the hayfield ; his widow, on a rather short court-
ship, became the wife of our friend Samuel Smith ; and her
young son in process of time became a leading character

CHRISTIAN INSTRVCTION. 117

amongst the Methodists, and is now, I believe, one of their
travelling preachers.

Methinks I hear one Sanctimonia exclaim — '* And a pretty
way of bringing up the rising generation was that of the old
Methodists at Middleton."

To which I reply by asking : '* How would you bring them
up better?"

"Oh," says Sanctimonia, ** parents or guardians should
always accompany their youthful charge to places of public
worship, or should commit them to the care of vigilant elders
who would reprehend every indication of levity or inattention."

** But could you govern the eye ? Could you restrain the
wanderings of the mind or of the heart ? "

" No, but the bodily positions could be regulated, leaving
the rest to God."

"You would exact 'the outward and visible sign,' then,
whether or not * the inward and spiritual grace ' were
present ? "

"I would."

"A very easy method that, of manufacturing devotees, but
let me say that, in my opinion, you would begin at the wrong
end, and that the article after all would be spurious. We have
plenty of it nowadays, and I believe it is produced by a process
very much like that which you recommend."

" What sort of an article, as you call it, would you
produce ? "

" I would, with God's help, try to produce a genuine one, a
true Jesus Christ's own Christianity."

" And how would you set about it ? "

" In every heart there is at least one germ of goodness. I
would cultivate that by every gentle, and kind, and appropriate
means ; making its practice and development become a plea-
sure, not less than a duty. For instance, a child may be very
impatient or drowsy over a sermon, whose heart would leap,
and whose eyes would gush with tears on being addressed
with words of kindness, or on seeing a fellow-creature or a
dumb beast unworthily treated. Another who is less susceptible
of tender feelings would colour with indignation on witnessing

118 EARLY DAYS.

an act of dishonesty or ingratitude. Another would perish
sooner than be guilty of an untruth. A fourth shall battle
for the weak in right, against the strong in might, whilst his
neighbour shall be lion-brave in the endurance of injuries. So
one is merciful — cultivate that mercy, and other virtues will
arise with it. Another is just — by all means encourage that
spirit of justice, and mercy shall be thereby impartially dis-
pensed. Another shall be indignant of wrong — nurture that
young heroism, and both justice and mercy will grow up with
it. A fourth shall be nobly magnanimous, and is he not so
far a Christian ? I would, with God's help, train up the
tender-hearted child to be just, the just one to be merciful, the
veracious one to add graciousness to truth, the heroic one to
be moderate in triumph, and the magnanimous one to be
powerful as well as endurant. In every assemblage of youth,
all these good qualities are to be found, like gems strewed in
darkness. Why should they be left to be lost? Precious
emanations are they of God's own being. Let us worship
God by deeming His gifts worthy of our care — most solicitous
care. Children would understand this kind of religion better ;
they would love it better, they would imbibe it sooner, than
the present one

** Of sermonising and catechising,
And bell-ringing, and drone-singing,
And knee-bowing, and pride-showing,
Of vain finery, and mock shinery."

I would not have it all lip- worship, and form-worship; but
heart-worship, coming from the heart, and heart-penetrative,
wherever it was introduced. I would, in fact, have less of
priestianity, and more of Christ's own Christianity ; less of
creeds and dogmas, and more of the living faith which bringeth
forth works, testifying to the reality of a true belief.

CHAPTER XIV.

PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES.

As my wish is to give a true description of the Ufe which I
led in my early days, and consequently of the manners and
customs to which that life would be conformable, I shall only
be proceeding with the proper end in view, if I give an account
of the games, pastimes, and observances, which were prevalent
amongst both the youthful and the more mature classes of the
working population of my neighbourhood at the time I am
writing about ; and this may be considered as less irrelevant,
inasmuch as that most of the pastimes and diversions which
I shall describe are no longer practised — some of them not
even known — by the youthful population of the manufacturing
districts at the present day. Thus we are enabled distinctly
to perceive the great change which, in a few years, has taken
place in the tastes and habits of the working classes. And,
seeing these alterations clearly set forth, we shall be better
able to determine whether or not the labouring classes have
been advancing in, or retrograding from that state of mind, and
that bodily habit, which are meant by the term, Civilisation.

It was always a custom with the Methodists to hold a
public prayer-meeting or *' watch-night " at the chapel, and
to continue in prayer or singing from the eve of Christmas
day to the following morning ; when the leaders, and such of
the attendants as chose to accompany tHem, perambulated the
town, singing hymns and carols, and stopping to sing before
the dwellings of individuals of their own society, or of any
other individual who was of their congregation, or who was
generally respected. On the forenoon of the following day,

119

120 y EARLY DAYS.

they also generally held another prayer-meeting, unless there
was service at the chapel, whilst in the evening there was
generally a full service. On New Year's Eve there was a
prayer-meeting again. And these were the chief Christmas
observances of the religious body with which I was associated
in worldly matters.

Some two or three weeks before Christmas it was the custom
in families to apportion to each boy or girl weaver a certain
quantity of work, which was to be done ere his or her holidays
commenced. An extra quantity was generally undertaken to
be performed, and the conditions of the performance were such
indulgences and gratuities as were agreeable to the working
parties. In most families, a peck or a strike of malt would be
brewed ; spiced bread or potato custard would be made, and
probably an extra piece of beef, and some good old cheese
would be laid in store, not to be touched until the work was
done. The work then went on merrily. Play hours were
nearly given up, and whole nights would be spent at the loom,
the weavers occasionally striking up a hymn or Christmas
carol in chorus. A few hours of the late morning would
perhaps be given to rest ; work would be then resumed, and
the singing and rattle of shuttles would be almost incessant
during the day. In my uncle's family we were all singers,
and seldom a day passed on which several hymns were nob
sung. Before Christmas we frequently sung to keep ourselves
from sleep, and we chorused " Christians, awake," when we
ourselves were almost gone in sleep.

I recollect, on one of these occasions, my aunt had a very
nice brew of ale in the buttery, and as we were working extra
hours, I suggested that an allowance of it should be served to
us whilst so working, instead of its being reserved until the
work was done, when we should no longer require it. My
aunt, however, would not give way; not a drop must be
tasted until the work was finished. I determined, therefore,
on helping myself, deeming it no dishonesty to obtain a part
of my good fare when it was most wanted. I got a hollow
straw, therefore, and whenever I went into the buttery, which
was not unusual with any of us, I introduced my tube into

PASTIMES AND OBSEBVANCES. 121

the bung hole and sucked until I was satisfied for that time.
This was repeated on several other occasions, and at last I
heard my aunt say to my uncle that she thought the ale was
not working so well as she could wish it to do. He told her
to fill it up, and it would be prime ale, no doubt. So she filled
it up, and I sucked it down ; she filled it again, and again the
barm was below the bung-hole. I, chuckling with mischievous
glee at my poor aunt's embarrassment, who no doubt began to
have surmises that something not exactly " of this world "
might have interfered with it, at last one day, as I was
having a most refreshing draw, a bump on the back drove my
nose into the barm, and there stood my aunt, crying out, "Ah,
I've catch'd him ! I've catch'd him i' th' fact ! " She brought
me forth, and narrated my trick to my uncle, who sat smoking,
and though he endeavoured to look angry, could not help
laughing until tears ran down his face.

Christmas holidays always commenced at Middleton on the
first Monday after New Year's Day. By that day every one
was expected to have his work finished. That being done, the
cuts were next carefully picked and plated, and made up for
the warehouse, and they having been despatched, the loom-
house was swept and put in order ; the house was cleaned,
the furniture rubbed, and the holidays then commenced. The
ale was tapped, the currant-loaf was sliced out, and lad and
lass went to play as each liked best ; the boys generally at
football, and both boys and girls at sliding, when there was
ice on the ground. In wet weather we should have a swinging
rope in the loom-house, or should spend the day in going from
house to house amongst our playmates, and finishing at night
by assembhng in parties of a dozen or a score, boys and girls,
where on some warm, comfortable hearth we sat singing carols
and hymns, playing at " forfeits," proposing riddles, and telling
**fyerin tales," until our hair began to stiffen, and when we
broke up we scampered homeward, not venturing to look
behind lest the *' old one" himself should be seen at our
heels.

At this season also it was the custom for the sexton of the
church, and the ringers to go from house to house wishing

122 EABLY DAYS.

their neighbours *' a merry Christmas," when they were
generally invited to sit down, and were presented with a jug
of ale and a present in money. This was done at most of the
houses, especially if trade was going well ; dissenters as well
as church people gave, for religious differences had not so far
divided the people into sects as to make them forget good
neighbourship. It must have been a very furor of religion
indeed which could have made my kind and simple-hearted
uncle entertain one disparaging feeling towards his fellow
townsmen of any party. Nor were the hard-working colliers
shut out from the Christmas festivities. They also made it
a custom to visit their neighbours, and were treated with ale
or money, or both, as the circumstances of the family per-
mitted. The poor sympathised with the poor, their sympathy
not being of that description which in these times froths out
in rabid speeches to starving multitudes, but was expressed by
action as well as by word. " Come, Jim, have a slice of my
loaf. Now, Bill, tak' a cup of my ale. Thou deservest what-
ever thou canst get. I live and work here in cheerful day and
sunlight ; thou spendest thy life in constant danger, and in
little dark cells under ground. Come, don't need inviting.
Thou art heartily welcome, and thou canst never be too
greatly paid for thy labour." Thus the weaver and the collier
would reciprocate their good wishes, which is better after all,
more manly, and more in the old English way — more respect:
fully kind than the vaunted French mode of fraternisation.

At Shrove-tide we had always a holiday on Tuesday, when
we went to each other's houses to turn our pancakes, and
" stang " such as incurred the penalty by not having eaten
their cake before the next cake was ready. The person to be
stanged was placed on a pole, and being held on each side,
was carried by others to middin and there deposited, amid the
laughter and jokes of all present. On one of these occasions
my little companion Mima, having to be stanged, and there
being no poles at hand, I lifted her like a child and carried her
towards the appointed place, she struggling and making a
great show of resistance the while, which caused her to fold
her arms round my neck, and to hold so closely, that had I

PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES, 123

not discovered that she had the sweetest breath as well as the
prettiest cheek in Middleton, I must have been a blockhead
indeed.

Midlent Sunday, with us called " Cymbalin Sunday," was
another of our feasts, when it was customary to eat cymbalin
cake,* and drink mulled ale. This was more particularly the
custom at Bury than at any other town in our neighbourhood.
Latterly the inhabitants of Heywood and Royton have set up
as special observers of this day, though on what pretence I
know not, except it be with the view of bringing strangers to
their town, whereby shopkeepers may get purchasers of their
cake, and publicans of their ale. I know not how to account
for the origin of this ancient observance, except by supposing
that it is in some way or other derived from the heathen
*' feast of cymbals." That it has in its very name and manner
an allusion to the instrumental cymbal, there can scarcely be
a doubt ; the name itself, which I here spell as it is pro-
nounced, directly points to such meaning, whilst the form of
the cake — the cymbalin — is a more positive indication of its
origin. A cymbalin is not a merely round spiced cake — such
an one would be a spiced cake only, and would be so termed —
but let the maker raise a lump in the middle, like the ball of
a cymbal, and turn up the edges like those of the instrument,
and any native of South Lancashire will call it a cymbalin.
There have been many disputations and surmises about the
orthography and derivation of the name — some of those by
persons who probably did not know a cymbalin from a cake ;
but this definition, I think, may be allowed to set the matter
at rest. The name is Cymbalin ; the form is exactly that of a
cymbal : but when or by what means this custom, so directly
allusive to a musical instrument, became connected with a
Christian observance in our part of the country, some one

* Usually known as " Simnel Cake " and •• Simnel Sunday." Bamford
wrote the name as he heard it pronounced. It occurs in Herrick's " Hespe-

rides" (1647)—

*♦ I'll to thee a simnel bring

'Gainst thou go a-mothering,"
Mid-Lent being Mothering Sunday.

124 EARLY DAYS.

more learned than myself must determine, if it can be deter-
mined at all.

Easter was a more important holiday time at Middleton.
On Good Friday children took little baskets neatly trimmed
with moss, and went '' a peace-egging," and received at some
places eggs, at some places spiced loaf, and at others half-
pennies, which they carried home to their mothers, who would
feel proud that their children had been so much respected.
On Easter Monday, companies of young men grotesquely
dressed, led up by a fiddler, and with one or two in female
attire, would go from house to house on the same errand of
** peace-egging." At some places they would dance, at others
they would recite quaint verses, and at the houses of the
more sedate inhabitants, they would merely request a ** peace-
egg." Money or ale would in general be presented to them,
which they afterwards divided and spent. Meantime, the
holiday having fairly commenced, all work was abandoned,
good eating, good drinking, and new clothing were the order
of the day. Men thronged to the ale-houses, and there was
much folly, intemperance, and quarrelling amidst the pre-
vailing good humour. On Tuesday night, some unlucky fellow
who had got so far intoxicated as not to be able to take care
of himself, would be selected to fill the post of lord mayor for
the year ensuing, and as — for the sake of the drink and the
sport which it afforded — there were always parties on the
look-out ready to secure some one suitable for their purpose,
the town was seldom at a loss for a lord mayor. Their mode
of election, most certainly, was not of so courteous nor so
grave a character as are the proceedings of mayoral elections
in some of the recently created neighbouring boroughs, but
" the Middleton Charter " having been in existence *' time out
of mind," granted no doubt by some king or lordly ruler,
whose very name is lost in remote antiquity, the electors were
not very strictly circumscribed in their operations, and they
generally went to work without consulting either town's- books,
town-clerk, statute, or charter. The individual pitched upon
would generally be found in the nook of some ale-house, in the
state which has been before described, or if by a more lucky

PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES. 125

accident he were picked up from the gutter, he would be
conveyed to some friendly tap, where the necessary prepara-
tions could be carried on without interruption. The electors
who undertook this important duty for " the good of the
town " would be mostly of that class of ''free burgesses" who,
on festive occasions, are always the first at the ale-house and
the last to leave it ; the first to leave work, and the last to
return to it; such as weavers who, disdaining slavery and
being for the Charter, are always at leisure to look after their
favourite pints ^ with a determination to get, by hook or by
crook, as many toward the six * as they can ; — cobblers,
" Souter Johnnies," "droughty cronies," who'd —

*' Kather be a hobble in,
Than bend to their cobblin' ; "

hedge joiners, whose chief hedging is that which edges
towards the drink mug; and dusty-throated colliers, who
certainly, of all the working classes, have the greatest apology
for a good wash-down of ale. Such being the electors, what
might be the mode of election ?

First of all, then, if the candidate happened to have a some-
what decent coat on his back, it was stripped and given into
the care of the landlord, or his equally obliging wife. The
face of the candidate was next well daubed with soot and
grease, his hair would be dusted with both soot and flour, a
pig-tail made from a dish-clout would be appended behind, a
woman's kirtle, a cap, a hat without crown, an old jacket, an
old sack, or any other shred of dress which the imagination of
his lordship's robers could construe either into an article of
adornment or deformity, would be placed upon him so as to
have its greatest effect. He would then be taken into the
street, placed on a chair, or in an armchair if too far gone to
sit upright, and proclaimed ** Lord Mayor of Middleton," with
every demonstration of drunken and mischievous glee. If the
landlord, for reasons best known to himself, declined the
honour of furnishing one of his old chairs for the procession,

* Written in 1848, when the Chartist agitation collapsed. The charter
consisted of " six points."

126 EAELY DAYS.

as most likely he would do, his lordship would probably be
hoisted on a pole, with attendants balancing him on each
side ; or he might be laid upon a ladder, or mounted upon
some poor strayed donkey; and so, amid shouts, laughter,
yells, and oaths, would be conducted through the streets and
lanes of his new dominions. It was generally somewhat past
midnight ere his lordship commenced this his first survey, and
the noise which accompanied his approach was such as per-
mitted but few of his subjects to remain in repose. A loud
knocking would be heard at every door, whilst many voices
called out, ** Come deawn, milord wants his dues," *' Milord
wants his dues." If the window were opened and one within
said, *' Well, yo' met'n make a less din, an' behange'd to yo' ;
heer's tuppence, an' be off wi' yo' ; " the response would be,
" Hur-rey ! milord's gett'n his dues; come, let's try this next
dur. Hur-rey ! Hur-rey ! " And so was chosen, elected,
installed, and paraded, the lord mayor of Middleton.

On the forenoon of the following day his lordship might
perhaps be seen, half washed and not yet awaken, on the form
of the noisiest tap-room of the town. His conductors of the
over-night drinking, smoking, dancing, and singing, in the
same place. Some having been fighting, some ready to fight,
some with black eyes, others with torn and bloody clothes,
some with scarcely any clothes at all, whilst anon, constables
would be peering about and making inquiries as to who it was
that kicked open such a door ? who smashed such a window ?
who stole this body's can? who broke that body's mug? and a
woful reckoning being promised for next week, some of the
marauders would look serious. And, in truth, if the affair
got over without some damages having to be made good, some
law having to be hushed up, it was considered a very peaceable
and exemplary election, and the '* free burgesses " were in good
heart for a repetition next year.

This custom was analogous to one which prevailed at
Ashton-under-Lyne on Easter Monday, and which was called
" Kiding the Black Lad." At Ashton, however, the ceremony
took place in the day time, when the figure of a man dressed
in black was paraded through the streets, mounted on a horse,

PASTIMES AND 0BSEEVANCE8, 127

or a sorry nag of any kind. The origin of these customs is
involved in obscurity. Both customs seem to have had one
origin, and to have been held in derisive commemoration
of some member of the Assheton family, as no such cus-
tom prevailed except in the two townships connected with
the Asshetons. At Ashton the figure was ignominiously
paraded in the day-time ; at Middleton, as we see, " The Lord
Mayor," all blackened and soiled, and, in fact, disguised, was
paraded at midnight, and with mock authority demanded ** his
dues." The ceremony at Ashton would seem to be expressive
of hatred and contempt, that of Middleton to indicate the
cause of it, namely, severe and arbitrary exaction. Another
supposition also arises, namely, that the Ashton ceremonial
would scarcely have been allowed to take place, had the
object of it been on the spot in the person of a powerful chief ;
and we may thence infer that he was gone thence to some
other place. At Middleton, however, the ceremony was per-
formed at midnight, in comparative secrecy and obscurity;
and on the night but one following the day exhibition at
Ashton. And this circumstance seems to indicate that the
object of distaste was present at the latter place, with the
power as well as the will to punish those who incurred his
displeasure ; hence it might be that the ceremonial took place
at midnight. Kalph Assheton, Esquire, a son of Sir John
Assheton, Knt. of - Ashton-under-Lyne, having married a
daughter of Kichard Barton, Esquire of Middleton, in 1438,
became lord of the manor of Middleton, and left Ashton to
reside at the latter place. He was called the " Black Knight,"
and tradition points to him as the original of the '* Black
Lad."

On Easter Wednesday, what was called " The White Apron
Fair," was held at Middleton. It was merely an occasion for
the young wives and mothers, with their children, and also for
the young marriageable damsels, to walk out to display their
finery and to get conducted by their husbands, or their sweet-
hearts, to the ale-house, where they generally finished by a
dance, and their inamoratos by a battle or two, and their
consequences, bruised hides and torn clothes.

128 EABLY DAYS.

The night of the 1st of May was " Mischief -nee t," when, as
"there is a time for all things," any one having a grudge
against a neighbour was at liberty to indulge it, provided he
kept his own counsel. On these occasions it was lawful to
throw a neighbour's gate off the angles, to pull up his fence, to
trample his garden, to upset a cart that might be found at
hand, to set cattle astray, or to perform any other freak,
whether in the street, house-yard, or fields, which might sug-
gest itself or be suggested. The general observation in the
morning would be, ** Oh, it's nobbut th' mischief -neet." If a
young fellow wished to cast a slur on a lass, he would hang a
rag containing salt at her parents' door, or he would cast
some of the same material on her doorstep, as indicative of
gross inclinations. If he remained unknown he escaped punish-
ment, but if he were detected, or his secret became divulged,
he generally got thrashed, as he deserved, by a brother, or
some favoured swain, or he might get his face channelled by
the fair one's nails the next time she met him, or a mop
slapped against his cheek, or a vessel of odorous liquid poured -■
on his clothes as he passed the desecrated threshold ; all or
any of which retaliations would earn for him but small
sympathy with his neighbours — the men chuckling or
laughing and saying nothing : and the women all agreeing,
**Aye, it sarves him quite reet, th' wastril." A gorse bush
indicated a woman notoriously immodest ; and a holly bush,
one loved in secret ; a tup's horn intimated that man or
woman was faithless to marriage ; a branch of sapling, truth
in love ; and a sprig of birch, a pretty girl. If a house floor
wanted cleaning, a mop would be left for that purpose ; and if
a dame was notorious for her neglect of needle-work, a ragged
garment of some sort would be hung at her door. The morning
after " mischief -neet " was generally prolific of gossip and
some laughter, as it generally became known by breakfast-time
what " lumber " (mischief) farmer So-and-so had had done,
and what this young girl, or that young widower, found at
their doors when they opened them.

The feast of Whitsuntide was not attended by any particular
local customs, except the relics of the ,old " Whitsun ales,"

PASTIMES AND OBSEBVANCES. 129

whicli consisted in what were termed " main brews " of ale ; a
number clubbing to purchase malt which was brewed by one
selected from the party, and drunk at one of the houses.
Dances and ale-house fuddles were also common, and latterly
races attracted vast crowds to the scene of their operations,
sticks were indispensable to pedestrians on these occasions,
and hazel or holly sticks, with the peel taken off in a spiral
form, were considered the very example of a country "some-
body." Oldham pedestrians went to the races by hundreds,
and were designated as ** Owdham Brewis ; " whilst Eochdale
folks, still more numerous, were known as '* Ratchda Koof-
yeds." The inhabitants of Blackley were " Blackley Lions,"
perhaps from the circumstance of their having lions for the
signs of their two pubhc-houses ; people who come from
Bowlee were " Bowlee Tups"; whilst the inhabitants of
Middleton were retaliated upon as " Middleton Moons," a
term indicative of a notion that, with all their wit, they were
not more wise than their neighbours.

VOL. L

CHAPTEK XY.

THE WAKES.

But " The Rush-bearing " was the great feast of the year, and
was held on the anniversary of the dedication of the church.
At Middleton it is held on the third Saturday in August, or if
there be five Saturdays in the month, it falls on the fourth.
From tradition, as well as from custom itself, we may con-
clude that at first it was a simple offering towards making the
church floor comfortable during the winter services. Every
family having then its separate bench to sit upon, some one or
two of them would at first strew their own floors with rushes
to promote the warmth of their feet during the stormy months.
Others perceiving how snugly and cosily their neighbours sat,
would follow the example. Probably the priest would
encourage the new luxury, and it would soon become common.
Thus Nan and Dick, and Bob and Bet, would be seen carrying
bundles of rushes to the church at the feast of the dedication,
and the church would be littered for the winter. Next,
families forming small hamlets of the parish would unite, and
pitching each their quota of rushes into a cart, would send
down a load. Some of these hamlets in order, probably, to
ingratiate themselves with the priest, by rendering extra
homage to the church, would arrange and decorate their
rushes with green boughs ; others would excel them ; and a
rivalry as to which hamlet could bring the neatest formed and
the most finely decorated load of rushes would ensue, and
thus the present quaint and graceful " rush-cart " would be in
time produced. Music, dancing, and personal finery would
accompany and keep pace with the increasing display ; the

130

THE WAKES. - 131

feast would become a spectacle for all the surrounding
districts, and the Uttle wood-shadowed village, would annually
become a scene of a joyous gathering and a hospitable
festivity; and thus, the wakes, as they existed in my early
days, would be gradually produced.

The folds or hamlets which mostly sent "rush-carts" to
Middleton, were Boarshaw, Thornham, Hopwood, Birch,
Bowlee, and Tonge, About a month or six weeks before the
wakes, the young men of the hamlets, as well as those of the
town, would meet at their respective rendezvous, which was
some ale-house, where the names of such as wished to join the
party during the wakes were given in, and the first instalment
of money was paid. These meetings were called " enterings,"
and they always took place on Sunday evenings, when each
one paid a certain sum towards a general fund, and a trifle
more for drink at their meetings. It was the interest of these
young fellows to raise as strong a party as they could, not
only with a view to a plenteous fund, but also in order to
repel — if necessary — aggression from other parties ; for as these
little communities were seldom without a few old grudges to
fall back upon should an opportunity offer, it was very extra-
ordinary, indeed if a quarrel did not take place amongst some
of them, and half-a-dozen battles were not foughten before
the wakes ended. It was consequently an object with each to
get as numerous a party and as heavily bodied an one as
they could, agility and science not being so requisite in
Lancashire battles as weight, strength, and endurance. These
young fellows, therefore, mustered as imposingly as they could,
and if one or two of the young women of the place happened
to have sweethearts who came from a distance — and especially
if they were likely to clear their way in a row — the courters
would probably be found joined with the brothers and friends of
their fair ones. Well,. the * ' enterings " having been formed, and
the subscriptions duly paid, a rush-cart would be determined
upon. Such a farmer's broad-wheeled cart was to be bespoke.
Then, lads and lasses would at all spare hours be engaged in
.some preparation for the feast. New clothes would be ordered ;
and their quantity and quality would probably depend on the

132 EABLY DAYS.

amount of money saved during the year, or on the work per-
formed in a certain time before the wakes. Jack would obtain,
if he could, ** a bran new suit, wi' trindl't shurt," and Bess
would have her " geawn made wi' tucks an' fleawnces ; new
shoon wi' ston op heels ; new stockin's wi' clocks ; a tippit
wi' frills o reawnd ; monny a streng o necklaces ; an'
a bonnit made by th' new mantymaker, the prattyist 'at
ever wur seen, wi' a skyoy blue underside, an' pink rib-
bins." By "day skrike " in a morning, or by " neet-
gloom " in the evening, the jingle of morrice bells would be
heard along the lanes and field roads ; for the lads having
borrowed each his collar of bells at neighbouring farmhouses,
would hang them on their necks and come jingling them home,
waking all the echoes in the deep lanes, and the meadow
nooks, and the old grey solitary places, until the very air was
clamorous of the bell tingle and the musical roll of the crotal.'''
Kopes and stretchers would also be borrowed, and the rushes
growing in certain waste pieces having been marked out, and
when necessary bargained for with the owner of the land,
mowers were appointed, and a day or two before the com-
mencement of the wakes the rushes were cut down. An old
experienced hand was generally engaged to " make the cart,"
that is, to lay on, and build up, and trim the rushes, according
to the design which is always adopted in such constructions.
The girls meanwhile would all be employed at over-hours
getting their own finery and that of their brothers or sweet-
hearts ready for the great event. Tinsel was purchased, hats
were trimmed with ribbons and fanciful devices ; shirts were
washed, bleached snow-white, and neatly pleated ; tassels and
garlands, and wreaths of coloured paper, tinsel, and ribbon
were designed and constructed, and a grand piece of ingenuity
and splendour, a kind of concentration of the riches and the
pomp of the party was displayed in the arrangements and
setting forth of " the sheet." This was exclusively the work
-of the girls and women, and in proportion as it was happily
designed and fitly put together or otherwise, was their praise
or disparagement meted out by the public, a point on which
. * A kind of cymbal.

THE WAKES, 133

they would probably be not a little sensitive. The sheet was
a piece of very white linen, generally a good bed sheet, and on
it were arrayed pretty rosettes, and quaint compartments and
borderings of all colours and hues which either paper, tinsel,
or ribbons, or natural flowers could supply. In these compart-
ments were arrayed silver watches, trays, spoons, sugar-tongs,
tea-pots, snuffers, or other fitting articles of ornament an^
value, and the more numerous and precious the articles were
the greater was the deference which the party which displayed
them expected from the wondering crowd. Musicians were
also secured in good time ; a fiddler for the chamber dancing
always, and never less than a couple of fifers and a drummer
to play before the cart. But if the funds would allow, and
especially in later times, a band of instrumentalists would be
engaged, often a sorry affair certainly, but still ''a band " to
swear to, and that would be a great thing for the ears of the
multitude. All true church-goers were duly apprised of the
wakes, as its date was cried by the bellman in the churchyard
whilst the congregation were leaving the church, on three
Sunday afternoons previous to its commencement. The
morning of the great day comes, and every one is in a state of
bustle and anxiety. Heads of families are bundling up their
work and hastening off to town in order to be back in time for
the opening of the wakes. And now, the rushes having been
mown are carted to the place where the cart is to be made.
The maker with his assistants are all present ; the wheels are
sunken in holes, and the cart is well propped to make it steady;
the peeled rods and binders are set up so as to make the
structure steady, and to give the proper form as it advances ;
ale is poured out and drunk liberally; numerous youngsters
are playing and rolling about on the rush-heap, whilst others
are making of them small sheaves bound at each end, and
being cut in the middle with a scythe-blade are called
<*bowts" (bolts); others again are culling the finest of the
rushes and making them into *' bowts " of a superior descrip-
tion wherewith to form a neat edging to the front and back of
the structure. And so they keep binding and cutting and
piling up until " the cart " is completed, which now presents

134 EARLY DAYS,

the form almost of a flattened bee-hive, with the ends also
flattened, and ornamented with a projecting edging of rush-
bolts, which gives them a quaint and trim appearance. The
sheet, before described, is displayed with all its wonder-
exciting treasures in front of the cart ; sometimes another
sheet less costly is exhibited behind, and when that is not the
case, letters and various devices in flowers are generally found
there. The top of the cart, or rush-heap, is stuck with green
boughs which wave and nod like plumes, and amongst them
one or two of the young men who have been the latest married
take their seats astride the load. The drawers, all donned in
ribbon finery and tinsel, now begin to make their appearance ;
some dozen or so of the leaders having bells around their necks.
The drum is beating, the music is blowing and snorting and
screaming, the gay tinkling of morrice bells is floating and
waking up the echoes. The children are wild with joyful
expectation, or astonished by the wondrous fairy scene. The
girls bepranked in their new pumps, kirtles, and bonnets, now
add beauty to the spectacle ; and on the arm of each may be
noticed the best Sunday coat and doublet of her brother, or her
sweetheart. The ropes are attached, the stretchers noosed
fast at proper distances ; all is ready. The music strikes up
louder ; the driver clears the way with his long whip, making
it give a loud and clear crack at every stroke — that being his
feat — the word is " Neaw, lads," and at one strong pull, and a
heave of the shafts, the wheels are dislodged from their socket
holes, and the cart is slowly drawn up to the level sward,
amid the loud shouts of the admiring gazers; and so, with
music-clangour, and bell-jingle, and laughter, and words of
caution, as, "Howd on, lads," "Gently, lads," the quaint
and romantically fantastic spectacle moves towards the village
of its destination.

If the party can go to the expense of having a set of morrice
dancers, and feel inclined to undertake the trouble, some score
or two of young men, with hats trimmed, and decked out as
before described, precede the drawers, dancing in couples to
various simple country tunes, one of which may be measured
by this stanza : —

THE WAKES, 136

My new shoon they are so good,
I cou'd doance morrice if I wou'd ;
An' if hat an' sark be drest,
I will doance morrice wi' the best.

In some later instances there have been processions of
banner and garland bearers, with all beautiful flowers, arti-
ficial or real, and apt and ingenious devices. A choice beauty
of the village may also, on some occasions, be induced to per-
sonate the Queen of the Wake, walking under a bower borne
by four of her companions, and preceded by dancers and the
other pageants described. But these spectacles I should
rather suppose to be of comparatively modern introduction in
this part of Lancashire.

Arrived at the village, other parties similar to their own will
be found parading their cart on the high road. The neighbour-
ing folds and hamlets, having been nearly deserted by their
inhabitants, all are there concentrated seeing the wakes and
partaking in the universal enjoyment. The highway is
thronged by visitors in gay attire, whilst shows, nut stalls,
flying-boxes, merry-go-rounds, and other means of amusement
are rife on every hand. Should two carts meet, and there be
a grudge on either side, a wrangle, and probably a battle or
two, settles the question, and they each move on ; if the
parties are in amity, they salute each other with friendly
hurras, the drawers holding their stretchers above their heads
until they have passed. Each cart stops at the door of every
public-house, which the leaders enter tumultuously, jumping,
jingling their bells, and imitating the neighing of horses. A
can of ale is then generally brought to the door and distributed
to the drawers and attendants ; those who ride on the top not
forgetting to claim their share. When the whole town or
village has been thus perambulated, the cart is drawn to the
green near the church, where the rushes are deposited — or
should be — though latterly, since the introduction of pews in
the church, they have generally been sold to the best bidder.

136 EARLY DAYS.

The moment the first cart arrives on the green the church
bells strike up a merry round peal in honour of those who
have thus been alert to testify their devotion; but as the
rushes are now seldom left at the church, so neither is the
ringing so strictly performed as it wont to be ; and, in fact,
though the name and the form are in some degree retained, it
is evident that attachment to our venerable state-worship has
far less influence in the matter than it had in the days of my
early life.

After disposing of their rushes, either by gift to the church
— in which case they became the perquisite of the sexton — or
by sale to the best bidder, the lads and their friends, sweet-
hearts, and helpers repaired to the public-house at which they
put up for the wakes, and there spent the night in drinking
and dancing. On Sunday some of the principal banners and
garlands, which had been paraded the day before, were dis-
played in the church ; and on Sunday night the lads and
lasses again met at the public-house, where they drank,
smoked, and treated their neighbours and friendly visitors
from other public-houses. Sunday was also the great day for
hospitality; Eelations living at a distance, old friends and
acquaintances, being generally invited to the wakes, consider-
able numbers of well-dressed people would be seen in the fore-
noon entering the town from all quarters. Then, the very
best dinner which could be provided was set out, the ale was
tapped, and the guests were helped with a profusion of what-
ever the host could command. It was a duty at the wakes to
be hospitable, and he who at that time was not liberal accord-
ing to his means, was set down as a very mean person. Even ,
decent strangers who apparently had no fixed place of
visitation, would be frequently called in as they passed the .
open door and invited to partake with the family and other
guests, and would be made entirely welcome to whatever the
house afforded. This was not the custom at Middleton only,
but at all wakes holidays in that neighbourhood, and at none
was it carried out with more genuine and hearty welcome than
at Oldham. The town would, during the afternoon of this
Sunday, be thronged with visitors ; private houses were mostly

THE WAKES, 137

occupied, and the public-houses were crowded, whilst dealers
in nuts, oranges, and Eccles cakes vended their wares from
basket or stall, and shows, flying-boxes, and whirligigs stood
there, mute and still, as if in admonition of the vain, restless,
and wearying crowd which floated around them. Monday was
the day for hard drinking, and for settling such disputes and
determining such battles as had not come off on Saturday.
Tuesday was again a drinking day, with occasional race-
running, and more battles at night. Wednesday would be
spent in a similar manner. On Thursday the dregs of the
wakes-keepers only would be seen staggering about. On
Friday a few of the dregs of the dregs might be met with ;
Saturday was woful, and on Sunday all would be over, and
sobered people, going to church or chapel again, would make
good resolutions against a repetition of their week's folly. And
thus would have passed away the great feast of ** The Wakes."

From this time, as days began to shorten fast, candles were
lighted up in the loom-houses, and what was called " wakin'
time " commenced — not so termed from the keeping of the
wakes, but from the lighting up — the waking with candles.

When the fine clear nights of late August came, many were
the joyous gatherings of lad and lass on the broad open green
in front of the houses of Barrowfields. Two or three score of
wild, nimble, gleesome beings would assemble there, running,
leaping, wrestling, singing, and laughing, in that unalloyed
mirthfulness which is the especial blessing of innocent youth.
After the various groups had for a while pursued their several
sports, some one would call out — **Gome neaw, lads an'
wenches, let's play together." Immediately the games would
r»ease, and all would be called together, and when they had
determined on what they should play at, dispositions would be
made accordingly. If it were *' Hitch-hatch," all would lay
hold of hands, a lad and lass alternately, and a ring be formed,
the couples standing at arm's length, and making as large a
one as they could. One of the maids then went round on the
outside of the ring, with a handkerchief in her hand, which
she applied to every pair of hands, and then took away again,
repeating as she went round —

138 EARLY DAYS.

'♦ Hitch-hatch, hitch-hatch,
I've a chicken undermi lap ;
Heer I brew, an' heer I bake,
An' heer I lay mi clap-cake " —

laying the handkerchief at the same time on the arm of some
youth or maiden, and running away, in and out, across the
ring and round about, the one on whose arm the handkerchief
was left, following as quick as possible to catch her, and if he
or she succeeded in doing so, she must begin and perambulate
again, until she can contrive to slip into the vacant space left
by her pursuer, when she keeps the station and her pursuer
goes round as she did. This, of course, gives an opportunity
for a good deal of running and chasing and laughter, and of
endeavours to escape when overtaken ; which again necessi-
tates a pretty close hold to be had of the captive — not an
unpleasant one often — and much merriment until the play
proceeds.

If the play was " BuU-i'th'-Barn," a lad chosen to enact the
bull stood within a ring formed as before, and tried to break
through by running with all his force against the clasped
hands without using his hands to dissever them. The ring
would often give way without being broken, and his disap-
pointment would be hailed by shouts of laughter. Again he
would survey the ring, and choosing what he considered to be
a weak place, he would perhaps break through and take to his
heels, when the ring broke up and the whole followed him
helter-skelter, and after a smart run and a deal of hauHng and '
fun, he would be brought back captive, and either placed in
the ring again, or another be placed instead of him.

" Sheppey," or ''Blackthorne," was another of our youthful
plays. Two or three of the best runners having been selected,
they took their station at one end of the green, whilst the
main body of their companions were at the other end. The
runners then shouted

" Blackthorne,"

which was answered —

" Buttermilk and barlejcorn."

THE WAK:^S. ' - 139

■■ ■ - . _ \,

Eunners — >

" feeaw mony geese han yo' to-day ? "

Answer —

*' Moor nor yo' can oather catch or carry away."

The two parties approached each other at a swift pace, and
the , runners made as many of the others prisoners as they
could, taking them back to the place from whence they started,
when they also took part with the runners in the subsequent
game. Thus they kept running and taking prisoners until the
whole of the geese party were secured, when they divide, as at
first, and the play was renewed.

Other games used by the boys alone were leapfrog, running
races, leaping, and wrestling, which expanded our lungs with
fresh air and filled our veins with new, life-fraught blood, we
continuing our play untired until parents or guardians standing
at their doors called us to bed, and to an oblivious healthful
repose. 1^

CHAPTER XVI.

BONFIRES — SUl»ERSTITIONS — APPARITIONS.

The next holiday was on the Fifth of November, the anniver-
sary of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot. Most people ceased
from working in the afternoon, and children went from house
to house begging coal to make a bonfire, a distich of the fol-
lowing words being their form of application :

** The Fifth o' November, I'd hayo remember ;
A stick an' a stake for King George's sake ;
Pray, dame, gimmi a cob-coal,
To make a leet i' Lunnun cellar hole."

In addition to these contributions gates and fences suffered,
and whatever timber was obtainable from the woods and plan-
tations was considered fair game " for King George's sake."
At night the country would be lighted up by bonfires, or as
pronounced in Lancashire, " bunfoyers ; " tharcake and to%
were distributed to the younger members of families, whilst
the elder clubbed their pence and at night had *' a joynin' " in
some convenient dwelling. The lord of the manor made the
young men a present of a good two-horse load of coal, with
which a huge fire was lighted on The Bank near the church,
and kept burning all night and most of the day following.
The young fellows also joined at ale from the public-house,
and with drinking, singing, and exploding of firearms, they
amused themselves pretty well, especially if the weather was
favourable. Such were the principal games, pastimes, and
observances of the rural population of Middleton and its
vicinity when I was a youth. There were other observances,

140

' '

BONFIRES. 141

however, which were supposed to relate to the immaterial
world, to give an account of which would perhaps be consi-
dered too much out of the line of my narrative. I will, how-
ever, briefly describe two of them.

A young woman who wished to have a sight of her future
husband would walk three times round the church at midnight,
sprinkling hemp-seed, and repeating as she went : —

" Hemp-seed I sow, hemp-seed I sow,
And he that must my true love be —
Come after me and mow."

When the spirit of the young man she was destined to marry
would appear and come mowing at her heels, and if she
stopped to scrutinise him over much she was in danger of
being cut down. So much for the gallantry of spirit mowers.
We know that according to old legends the two nights of
All Saints and All Souls were especially set apart for spiritual
appearances. That on the night of All Saints the spirits of
the blessed who in the course of the year should depart within
the parish were visible in their human forms at the parish
church, and that on the night of All Souls the spirits of all
those who should die, whether sinner or saint, were also
certain to appear in bodily shape. On one of these yearly
recurrences Old Johnny Johnson, who was then the sexton,
had an irrepressible curiosity to know which of his neighbours
should die, as well as to ascertain the amount of grave and
other fees and perquisites he was to receive during the next
twelve months, so, on the night of All Souls, he concealed
himself in the church, and watched the ghostly visitants come
in and go out and walk about the place, and a decent number
he had already counted up, which at the usual fee per head
would amount to a goodly sum. Still they kept dribbling in
one by one, and sometimes in couples,

ti

Old and young,
Weak and strong,
Rosy — pale —
Faint and hale

142 EABLY DAYS. '

Come and go, ,

Passing slow ;
Life in death,
Not a breath,
Not a wail."

There sat old Johnny, chuckling and counting up his gains,
when at last a little old man made his appearance, and
Johnny at the first look knew him to be himself. He had
then seen enough, and with all speed he hastened to his home,
became very thoughtful, soon after sickened, and within the
twelve months he died. •

As for the Parish Church of Middletoh, every one in those
days admitted that there was not a rood of earth around it
which was not redolent of supernatural associations. My
poor aunt Elizabeth no more doubted these things than she
did the truth of every word betwixt the two backs of her
Bible. Often when on a winter's night we youngsters were
seated round the hearth, and my uncle was engaged elsewhere,
would she set her wheel aside, take a pinch of snuff, hutch her
chair towards the other hob, and excite our curiosity and
wonder by strange and fearful tales of witches, spirits, and
apparitions, whilst we listened in silence and awe, and scarcely
breathing, contemplated in imagination the visions of an un-
seen world which her narratives conjured up before us. Often
she would tell — for these tales were always new again — how
that the venerable servant of God, Mr. Wesley, being be-
nighted on one of his journeys, obtained lodgings at a lone
house, and on retiring to his chamber was followed by a huge
black dog, which he knew to be an unhappy spirit, to whom,
with a feeling of compassion, he flung his gown as a bed for it
to lie upon, which it did, and he then making fast the door,
went to sleep and had a good night's rest, and on awaking in
the morning the dog was gone, though the door remained
fastened, and no one belonging to the place knew of such a dog,
or had seen such an one about the premises. At other times
she would narrate the strange stories of EHzabeth Hobson,
who could not walk abroad by night or day without seeing the
spirits of departed persons ; who being affianced to a young

SUPERSTITIONS. ' 143

suitor, saw his spirit pass her in the street, and walk appa-
rently through the wall of a house, and thereby she knew .that
he was dead, an account of which soon after came to hand ;
who made an appointment to meet a spirit at midnight on a
lonesome hill, whither she was accompanied part of the way
by devout persons, from whom, after earnest prayer, she
departed, and by whom she was seen ascending the hill after
being joined by others, whom, from her warnings, they knew
to be spirits ; who, after being on the hill a long time, during
which her friends were praying for her, returned and gave an
account of many things which she had seen ; of the spirits of
deceased neighbours and friends she had conversed with whilst
on the hill, but refused to divulge certain matters which she
stated she was immutably pledged not to disclose, and the
awful secrets of which she never could be prevailed upon to
utter.

In one of my aunt's communicative moods she told how her
grandfather Bamford, being in a dehrium, attempted to destroy
himself, and was tied down in bed, where religious people
came to pray for him, when in order to convince them that all
their precautions were vain, and that the Evil One, to whom
he was given up, would let him have his will, he drew his
hand from the noose, as if he had been merely moving it in an
ordinary way, and pointing to a corner of the room told them
— to their great terror — that at that precise spot, and at that
moment, the dark spirit was waiting to do his slightest bid-
ding. That on learning this horrid fact — of which they had
not the least doubt — prayers were redoubled, and doctors were
called in, and the latter having bled the patient and forced
medicine upon him, he, through God's mercy and "the efficacy
of prayer," was restored and afterwards became a devout man.
Or she would tell how her sister Mary — a beauty in person,
and an angel in mind — died, in the bloom of her days, praising
God and blessing all around her ; or how her brother Abraham—
the pride of the family — having taken a mixture given him
by a quack doctor, died shrieking in torment. How James
gradually wore away, and Samuel died of fever, and Wilham
of consumption »,,

144 EAELY DAYS.

On another occasion, I and she being alone in the house,
she gave me an account which made my heart to thrill and
the tears to gush from my eyes. She said no bereavement out
of her own family had troubled her more than the death of
my mother. "I was at home," she said, "here in Middleton,
and was sadly grieved that I had not seen her before she
died ; both Sally Owen and I were troubled in our minds on
that account ; but it was no slight matter for the mother of a
family to leave them all well here, and to walk into a great
fever hospital which the workhouse was at that time. So we
judged it best not to go, but to offer up our prayers on her
behalf, and on behalf of thee and thy father, and all who were
sick. We always remembered you in our prayers, and daily
besought God on our bended knees that He would spare you
yet a little while, and two out of the four were spared. Well,
but Sally an' me cried many a time about thy mother — we
never met but we cried about her, and sometimes we blamed
ourselves for not goin' a seein' her, and sometimes we were
comforted by thinkin' we had done our duty. What troubled
us most was the uncertainty about the state of her soul. We
were hardly satisfied about that, and we next prayed that if
she was happy a token might be vouchsafed whereby we might
know that she was so. Still nothing happened, we kept
watchin' for tokens but none came, and months and months
passed away. At last, Sally was taken in labour, and I went
down from these club-houses here to th' Back-o'th'-Brow, and
a good time and a safe delivery she had — thank God ; an'
tow'rd eleven o'clock thy uncle William came to fetch me
home, an' we tarried till near midnight, an' as he sat smokin'
his pipe, I donn'd my cloak an' bonnet, and said I would be
going slowly up th' Bonk, and he would o'ertak' me before I
had gotten far on the way, for theaw sees I was rather slow at
walkin' i' consequence of my cough an' shortness o' breath
Well, I kept comin' slowly up an' slowly up, an' turning' to
see if he were comin', an' I kept creepin' end way till I'd
getten to the bottom o' th' church steps. It was as fine a
moonleet neet as ever shone eawt o' th' moon, as cleer very
nee as th' noon-day ; I could ha' seen to ha' gathert a pin off

\

/

S UPEBS TIT IONS. 145

th' greawnd. Well, I stoode an' lookt back to see if he wur
comin', an' I seed him just meawntin' onto th' bonk, when I
yard th' gate oppen behind me, and lookin* that way, I seed a
very fine, tall woman dresst o* i* sparkHn' white, come through
th* gate an' walk deawn th' steps past me, and go streight.
under th' trees tow'rd Summer Heawse. The moment I seed
her put her foot eawt to come deawn th' steps, that moment I
knew her to be thy mother."
"My mother?"

" Aye, thy very mother, or at th' least her spirit."
*' I' th' name o' Goodness, aint, whot aryo tellin' me."
'* I'm tellin' the' God's own truth, lad ; I seed her as plain
as I see thee this very minnit. The mother had a foote an'
ancle incomparable ; I could ha' known her ony time by seeing
iier step eawt." .

" And did you not see her face, then ? "
" Nawe, I didno'. I felt a kynd of awe, an' ere I could
look up, hoo wur past me."

" And whot then ? "
V '* Oh ! hoo walkt streight forrud as if hoor gooin' tow'rd th'
Market-place, an' I turn'd me an' watcht her as lung as I
cou'd see her, under th' trees, an' through th' moonleet, and
through th' shadows, as fair as if it had 'been noonday.
* Blessed be God,' I said; 'yon's Han-nah ; hoo's happy, an'
I am satisfied.' "

" An' did you tell my uncle? " ,

"Nawe; the uncle towd me. He coom op to me in a
minnit after, an' he said, ' Lisabeth, hooas yon fine woman
at's just gone past the' ? '

Why, did theaw see her, then ? ' I asked. ' . .
Aye,' he said, * I seed her plain enoof ; hoo'r not so very
far off me, as hoo went deawn heer tow'rd th' Lodge.'

" ' Theaw'rt mista'en, lad; hoo went o' this reet side o' th'
Beawling Green, an' under th' trees.'

" * Nay,' he said, * theaw munno say so, lass, hoo went o'
this lift side o' th' Green; heaw cud I ha' seen her gooin*
tow'rd th' Lodge, if hoo'd gone under th' trees.'

** * Well,' I said, * that convinces me moor an' moor.' • j,

VOL. I.'' 10

(( (

.k>r

i-L,>v

' / ■.' -/ ,' / /

146 EARLY DAYS.

" * Convinces the' o' whot ? '

** ' 'At ween both seen a spirit.'

** * Nonsense, wench I ' he said ; * it wur nobbut a very fine
lady, o i' white. I seed her as plain as I see thee. Hoo walkt
beer deawn tow'rd th' Lodge quite natural. Some body happen
'at had been a visitin'.'

'* ' Visitin' ! whot, at this time o' neet, or reyther mornin' !
Beside, wheer cou'd hoo ha' come fro', an' wheer cou'd hoo
begooin' to ? There's no sitch fine foke heerabeawt.'

" ' True, lass, there isno', unless it's sumbody *at's been at
th' Clockmakers.'

" ' Th' Clockmakers ! yon's no company for th' Clockmakers,
as great foke as they ar. Yon's eawer Daniel wife spirit as
sure as I ston heer. I knew her the moment I set my een on
her. Thanks be to God 'at I seen her. Hoos comn fro'
heaven, an* hoo's gooin' back theer. "The Lord gave, and
the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord." '
An' so we turn'd an' coom through th' churchyard whom, an'
the uncle wur afterwards convinc'd 'at th' appearance must
ha' bin a sperit. An' when I towd Sally Owin, after hoo'd
gett'n better, we both went deawn on eawr knees and returnt
thanks for eawer onsur to prayer."

"Well," I said, " I'm glad you have told me of this, aunt. '
I never had a doubt about my mother's happiness. I always
considered her as too good to go anywhere save to heaven.
What you have said has, however, made me still happier,
since you and Sally Owen, when she was living, and your
most intimate connections, would all be satisfied with respect
to my mother's spiritual state."

** Oh ! quite so, quite satisfied. Would to God 'at I wur as
sure o' my own salvation."

"Is it not strange, aunt, that I have often thought that
walk, under the trees and towards the summer-house, was a
very solemn place."

" Hasto ever thought so, then ? "

" Aye, I've always felt strangely attached to the spot, and
have taken many a ramble there instead of going with the
others to play. Can it be that my mother's spirit haunts that

APPARITIONS, 147

place, think you? And that it would be fain to meet me
there ? "

*' Oh, no, chylt ! the mother 's happy i' heaven, an' if theaw
expects to meet her, theaw mun prepare to goo theer."

" Well, I cannot tell how it happens, aunt, but I always feel
so calm and soothed when at dusk I walk alone round the
green, or sit on the bright grass under the trees. It seems as
if I had all the company I desire : I can converse better with
myself, as it were — can commune more deeply with my own
feehngs and thoughts in that lone spot than in any other,
Middleton Wood excepted, and probably some of the lone
dells of Hopwood. I shall go there oftener."

"There's a deal o' sin committed thereabeawts ; pitchin',
an' tossin', an' drinkin', an' beawlin', i' summer time."

'' Yes, but I go when the rabble are away — when nothing
is heard save the distant murmurs from the surrounding
habitations. There is something so quaintly hoary in the old
summer house, and the tall trees waving in the mysterious
twilight just before dark, that I feel as if I were almost in
a new existence. I shall go there oftener. My mother has
come there once, and she will come again if I wait for her."

** Tempt not God," said my aunt ; " the spirit may come
again if it is so willed."

CHAPTEE XVII.

LOVE DAWNINGS.

I CAN scarcely recollect a period of my life when the society
of females was not very agreeable to me. I was now, how-
ever, approaching that age when this general partiality was to
become more individualising, and when amongst the mass
which I always contemplated with tender regard, some would
be found from whom I could not withhold a still warmer
sentiment. Thus were the young germs of love beginning to
quicken in my heart ; and instead of repressing or controlling
them, as I should perhaps have done, or have attempted to
do, had I had a wise adviser to counsel me, I abandoned
myself to delicious heart-gushings of romantixi feehng, bowed
in silent but earnest regard to female loveliness, and became
soul and heart- bound — profoundly mute, however, except by
sighs and looks — to more than one, in succession, of the young
beauties of my acquaintance. Thus from an admirer of the
sex generally, I became the worshipper of its most lovely ,
forms in particular, and amongst those I was not slow to
discover some who to me seemed to surpass all other mortals
in beauty and modest worth. Such was the collier's dark-
eyed daughter who came every Sunday to school from Siddal
Moor : such the tall fair girl who, all blush-coloured, and
wild as a young roe, came from the meadow-top at Alkring-
ton : such the pale vocalist from my native suburb, whose
sable hair streamed like night- clouds around a statue of snow.
Such, also, were others, but why should I dwell on these re-
miniscences, seeing that I cannot look back and reopen my

148

LOVE D AWNINGS. 149

Heart and find it as it once was ; seeing that death has swept
some away ; that Time has bowed those who remain ; that
age has subdued love, and that beauty is in ruins.

My cousin Hannah I could have admired because she was
pretty, but she understood not my boyish endeavours to
please, and repaid them with rudeness, so there was soon
an end of romance in that quarter. Little Mima daily grew
in my esteem, as well as in beauty, and I felt that I was
likely to love her when she was more of a woman, but not
as yet.

It would have been a fact entirely at variance with the well-
known penetration of females in matters in which the heart is
concerned, if some of my fair Cynosures had not penetrated
the secret of my feelings. The quick eyes and the virgin
sensibilities of several of my young friends detected, as they
were sure to do, the state of my feelings, and then whenever
our eyes met we were covered with blushes, mutual acknow-
ledgments of a sentiment too delicate for oral expression.
And thus we kept meeting and blushing, and sighing at times,
and looking with tender regard, whilst with rare exceptions
the word love never escaped from our lips. My heart, though
I knew it not, was yearning for the accomplishment of its
dearest wish, and that was to be beloved by one worthy of my
esteem, as well as of my devotion. And thus had many a

' young love -dream come and tormented me, and had passed
like the rest, when the long nights of winter having come, I
won a few kisses in playing at forfeits, or I was emboldened to
a word or two in playing at Hide-and-seek, or at Blindman's
Buff. Then winter was over, days lengthened, and spring
approached, when, one evening in February, we were all
sitting round the fire at my uncle's, having our bagging, and a
girl who lived at the next house, trying to open the door to
go home, found it jammed fast by something which stuck at
the bottom. She pulled it out and gave it to my aunt, and on
its being opened before us all, great was our astonishment at

■ beholding a valentine displayed. There were Cupids, and
darts, and bars of love, and birds and chains, and bleeding
hearts, all cut out, and coloured, and set forth in most

150 EABLY DAYS.

approved form. There were also lines of writing all around,
and several verses and conplets in the middle. After a few
minutes spent in admiration of the pretty missive, there was a
general request to have it read, and I must own that I felt a
mischievous glee in the idea that it would be found to be
meant either for my bashful cousin Thomas or his sister
Hannah, at whose expense, in particular, I was wishful to
have a laugh. At length, after my uncle and aunt had
examined the ornaments, it was handed over to Thomas to
read, who began by reading the direction, which was, *' To Mr.
Samuel Taylor, at Mr. W. Taylor's/' whereupon there was a
general laugh at me, which I met by observing that the letter
could not be meant for me, since my name was not Taylor but
Bamford, and it was evidently intended for some person of the
name of Taylor, and that Thomas was most likely to be that
person. But when Thomas began to read the document itself
— which he did with evidently mischievous glee — I was covered
with confusion, and knew not where or how to look. ** Eead
it ; read it," was the general cry ; and so he read a number of
rhymes, and verses, and complimentary scraps, which removed
every doubt as to the valentine being intended for myself and
no one else. In the commencement I was addressed " My
dear Samuel," then I was described as " tall and straight as a
poplar- tree," next informed that —

and that —

" The rose is red, the violet blue,
The pink is sweet, love, so are you,"

"As sure as grapes grow on the vine,
I'm your true love and Valentine,"

each sentence or couplet being followed by a laugh from the
youngsters. My uncle enjoyed the scene in his own quiet
placid way, whilst my aunt affected to view the affair in a
very grave light. The paper was handed from one to another,
in order that they might identify the writing, and they all
mentioned some person whose writing it was like ; at length,
after much hesitation, I was allowed to examine the missive,
and as soon as my eye rested on the heading, I was almost

LOVE D AWNINGS. - 151

satisfied with respect to the person who had written it, but I
kept my opinion to myself.

** Well," said my aunt, taking an extra pinch of snuff, '* it's
come to summut, at ony rate, 'at one conno' sit deawn to one's
meat i' one's own heawse, but we munbi haunted wi' yung
snickits comin' after thee, an* stickin' ther letters under th'
dur. But I'll get to know hooas writ'n it, gentlemon. Thy
feyther shall see this ; heest know heaw theawrt carryin* on ;
he shanna be kept i' th' dark ; it's none reet 'at he shudbe."

I protested that I knew nothing whatever of its coming. I
could not prevent its being put under the door, and as for the
writing none of them knew whose it was.

** But we win know," replied my aunt, still bent on torment-
ing me, though she could scarcely conceal the amusement she
derived from my embarrassment, ''we win know. This papper
shall be sent deawn to th' skoo, an* laid afore th' mesters, an'
th' writin' shall be compar't wi' some o' th' copy books, an'
th' writer will then be fund eawt, an' yo' shan bwoth be browt
an' set ov a form, one aside o' th' tother."

The very idea made my heart sink within me, for I was sure
if the writing was produced at school, and the copy books
examined, the writer would be detected, and I was more con-
cerned by the thought of the writer being exposed than I was
by any care for myself. Instead, therefore, of being gratified
and elevated by the comphment which had been given to me,
I was both humiliated and unhappy, and I passed many hours
in no enviable frame of mind. The day following I asked my
aunt to give the valentine up to me, but she refused, and
persisted in saying my father should see it, and it should be
produced at the Sunday school. I therefore determined to
gain possession of it by any means I could devise, and accord-
ingly I stole up to her chamber one forenoon, and found it in
a pocket-book under her pillow, and after having minutely
conned it over, I destroyed it, and thus put an end to all talk
— whether feigned or in earnest — about its exposure in other
places. My aunt was now really displeased, and threatened
me with my father's severest reprehension ; but I was never
better satisfied with anything I had done, inasmuch as I had

152 EABLY DAYS. - '

secured the writer — whoever she might be — from the possi-
biUty of any annoyance in future, on that account. In a short
time I expressed an intimation to Mima that I deemed her to
be the writer, but she denied it with seeming displeasure, and
I knew not then what to think about the authorship ; and
thus the occurrence was no more spoken about.

Let no one despise simple incidents like these. They are
the rufflings which mark human existence — the joys and
anxieties — the lights and shadows — of which humble life is
composed.

In consequence of the great dearth of corn which marked
the year 1800,'" my uncle's family had to suffer in manner and
degree with the rest of their poor neighbours. We dealt with
one of the best provision shops in Middleton, but the meal '
which we got tor our porridge was very often not fit for food,
whilst flour for dumplings or pies was out of all question.
Our bread was generally made from barley, and tough, hard,
dark-coloured stuff it was. Instead of wheaten flour, we had
a kind of mixture which was nicknamed " ran- dan," or
** brown George," and sad rubbish George proved to be; but
all was welcome, nothing was refused by us hungry lads, whose'
only care was to get enough. Oaten cake, though made from
meal which was enormously adulterated, was so much a dainty
that we often took an opportunity for putting a piece of it out
of sight, as a delectable snack to be eaten at leisure.

The pinching "barley-times" were over, and flour was
selling at sixpence the pound, meal at fourpence, and potatoes
at a guinea a load. Yet such was the profusion of work and
the price of labour during the short peace of 1802, t that
plenty was in every man's buttery. Common seven-eights
calico, twenty-eight yards in length, was woven at ten shillings-
and sixpence the cut. A young soldier who came over on a
two months' furlough, immediately set to the loom, and worked
with extraordinary quickness and perseverance : when his fur-

* The average price of wheat in 1800 was 110s. 5d. per quarter. It rose
to 115s. lid. in 1801, and fell to 67s. 9d. in 1802.

t The peace of Amiens, March, 1802. War was declared again in May,
1803.

LOVE DAWNINGS. 153

lough expired, he got it renewed, and again set to work, and
when he returned to the regiment he took money with him
which bought his discharge. But this prosperity was of short
duration ; wages receded as fast as they had advanced, and
work became very scarce. War again raged fiercely, the nation
was to be invaded by a French army from Boulogne, and the
whole kingdom was bristling with volunteer bayonets, when
one afternoon I was rather surprised by an intimation that my
uncle and a neighbour were going to look at the canal at Slat-
tocks, and that myself and cousin Thomas might go with them
if we chose. We went, pleased enough of course, but I soon
lost my company, and returning home, found the town people
all out of doors with fife and drum, and the constables parad-
ing for volunteers. I immediately offered myself, and was
rejected on account of my stature. But Long Tom, an old
campaigner, insisted on having me ; he said I was a straight
thriving lad, and would make a fine soldier, and so at last I
was accepted, though the lowest of any in the ranks, and I
got a shilhng bounty, a billet whereat to spend my shilling,
and a black and red cockade. On being dismissed for the
night I went home, and had to encounter another lecture from
' my aunt, who said it was the first time a cockade had ever
been worn by one of their family, and that I was in the way
to perdition. I bore her reflections very philosophically, con-
sohng myself with the assurance that I had only performed a
duty to my country, and as the corps were never called on —
not even to parade — I got through that great *' act of sin," as
my aunt was pleased to designate my volunteering.

Meanwhile, on fine moonlight nights we enjoyed our wild
and mirthful games out of doors, laughing until the echoes
came back with taugh as gleesome as our own. Latterly we
had also been sometimes joined at our play by one or two
of our maiden acquaintance, who lived at a distance, and
whom, as a matter of decent attention, I felt obliged to ac-
company part of the way home, taking many pleasant walks

•' By heather brown and meadow green,"

which I was rather pleased to perceive was not at all agreeable

154 EABLY DAYS.

to others who, until now, I had deemed almost indifferent to
anything which concerned me. I certainly had many com-
punctions of conscience ; I thought, as my aunt said, that I
was getting on very fast in sin, and that if I did not turn over
another leaf of life, I should become quite abandoned.

But deeper involvements soon followed from a persuasion
which about this time took possession of me, and that was,
that I was far from being indifferent in the estimation of my
fair friend Mima. I remarked that whenever I went into a
place where she was one of the company, she was the first to
make room for me and offer me a seat ; that she always con-
trived to be near to me, and to be ray partner in play ; that
she always seemed pleased whenever I made my appearance ;
pleased when I won at marbles or at any other game ; and
latterly I had to thank her in my heart for a very agreeable
instance of her regard and solicitude when almost unheeded-
by others as I sat ill in the nook. The kind inquiries, the
concern for my pain, the tender expression of her countenance
beaming at once with pity and beauty, more beautiful from its
goodness, could not fail to make an impression in which love
was born of gratitude, an impression which I neither strove to
conceal from myself nor to resist, since I now found that
besides her rare personal charms, she had^ what was in my
estimation a still brighter charm, in the tenderness of her
innocent and devoted heart.

A young lad, a companion of mine, being deeply enamoured
of a coy lass who lived at Throstle Nest, he took the expedient
of inditing love epistles, in order to interest her indifferent
feeUngs towards his suit. In these occupations I frequently
assisted, and gave my advice, as well as accompanied him in
his night excursions, when he went to peep at her window, or
to deposit his love billets. I also confided to him the secret of
my attachment, and, when the season came round, we fre-
quently sat down at his parents* house, after working hours,
and penned letters and valentines to our several fair ones, and
sometimes also, by way of joke, to others of our female
acquaintance. He was a neat writer, and an ingenious framer
of such things, and under his tuition I soon became as good a

LOVE DAWNING8. 155

proficient as himself, I now set my ingenuity to task, and
prepared a valentine the equal to which for painting, and gild-
ing, and writing, and scissors work, had never probably been
seen in Middleton, and this I gave with my own hand to
Mima, when she came to play at my loom at night. I had
seen too much of the chances of such things getting astray to
entrust this precious offering to other conveyance than my
own, I accordingly showed it to her first, and asked her opinion
as to its merits, when, with admiration not unalloyed by a
painful doubt, she inquired for what happy lass the beautiful
thing could be intended? and I in a whisper said, " For you, if
you can find in your heart to accept it for my sake, and as a
sincere expression of my feehngs." With joy in her look, and
blushes lovelier than those of the queen flower of June, she
said, " I do ! I do ! " and with a smile all modestly radiant, she
placed it in her bosom, and went away.

So now we knew each other ; we were united in heart, she
was mine, and I was her own, but not one word of love
escaped from our Hps. Days and weeks and months passed,
both of us happy in the assurance of mutual affection. I had
no companionship with any of the other members of her
uncle's family, and consequently I never went there except on
an errand to the shop. She, however, being the confidante of
my cousin Hannah, had a recognised privilege to come and go
at our house without notice, and whenever she chose to do
so, and seldom, indeed, a day passed, on which we were not
favoured by a visit from the little Hebe, who would have a
word of news for my old aunt, or a question to put to my
uncle, or something to mention to Hannah, but who never
went away until she had stood beside my loom, or tried to
weave for me, or fetched me bobbins, or moved my rods, or
spoken a word, or bestowed a modest glance, which said more
than words could do. And thus we continued, thinking and
looking unuttered things — heart united, soul blended, but
never speaking of love, never daring to let that fearfully ex-
pressive word escape from our lips, never daring even to meet
alone, when one day my aunt surprised and almost distressed
me by the information that I was by my father's direction to
depart that week and take up my abode in Manchester.

156 EARLY DAYS.

And as I am now about to quit this humble roof, and to
launch on themes and scenes of a quite different description,
it may not be out of place if I here introduce notices of a few
scarce and original characters who were acquaintances of and
visitors at my uncle's house, during my sojourn in his family.

One of the most singular of these was Kichard Hall, a
leader amongst the Kilhamite Methodists. Richard in his
youth had been a most reckless fighter and drinker, the master
and bully of the whole country side about Heywood, but
having attended a preaching and a meeting or two of the Old
Methodists, he was struck with remorse, became an altered
man, and joined the society ; and when the schism betwixt
Mr. Kilham* and the Conference took place, Richard went
with the former, and ever afterwards adhered to that party.
At the time I first knew him, he was a grave and venerable
looking man, gracefully stooping, with thin dark locks, a very
dark complexion, a temper surpassingly dogged and immovable,
and withal a manner as humble, and a speech as mild as might
have become the veriest lamb. Old Richard, however, I
believe was as sincere a Christian as many who make more
pretensions, but his modicum of grace had to act on a bodily
temperament of no common order, and amongst other beset-
ments thrown in his way by the ** Evil One," no doubt, was an
enormous liking of savoury viands, at whatever time of day,
or in whatever manner he became cognisant of their prox-
imity. Richard, however, was not selfish ; he was generous
of his humble store, and was at all times hospitable towards
preachers or poor brethren who came about dispensing the
Word in the neighbourhood. On one occasion he invited a
preacher to partake his Sunday dinner, and the invitation
was accepted with thanks. Meanwhile, the preacher was to
preach, and Richard as his host accompanied him to the
chapel, where a goodly array of hearers awaited them. Well,
the prayer was made, the hymn was sung, the text was taken,
and the preacher expounded to the great edification of those
present. Richard, however, was thinking of other things;
the old "Father of Sin," knowing his weakness, kept present-
* Founder (1797) of the Methodist New Connexion.

LOVE DAWNINGS, 167

ing to his imagination the nice stuffed duck which was roasting
for dinner ; and such was Bichard's anxiety to have it quite
r^ady the moment the preacher returned, that he sHpped out
of the chapel and hastened home in order to make sure that
no time should be lost. His wife, however, who was a little,
expert, tidy woman, had the duck already cooked and the
dinner waiting, and Eichard, snuffing the delicious odour,
thought there could be no great harm if he cut a sHce and ate
it, just to ascertain whether or not there was sage enough in
the stuffing. So he took a little of the duck and most excellent
it was ; then a little more, with some stuffing and apple sauce,
and that was delicious. Then he thought that as the duck
was ready, he might as well e'en make his dinner at once, and
there would be enough left for the preacher when he came.
So Eichard kept cutting and eating, and cutting and eating,
until, when the preacher returned, there was only the pickings
of the bones left for him. Eichard, now conscience struck,
made the best apology he could, which, I believe, amounted
partly to a confession of his besetting temptation, and partly to
an opinion that his friend had gone to dinner with some other
of the congregation. The preacher took all in good part, for-
gave his brother, advised him as to the future, and concluded
with a word of prayer. Eichard was greatly humbled, and
more guarded for a time, but to the last years of his life,
nothing gave him so great bodily satisfaction as "a nice
savoury chop," or a *' bit of a frizzle."

He was blessed with two daughters, as dutiful and affection-
ate children they were as ever ate bread from a parent's hand.
They worked for and supported their old father and mother
when they were unable to support themselves : they tended
them in their age and their sickness, nursed them whilst they
lived, and buried them with decency. One is still, I believe,
toiling with the world only to keep sinking deeper in poverty ;
the other met a sudden and dreadful fate. After having re-
ceived such attentions as led her to expect marriage by a
reUgious person, and having been abandoned by him, chiefly
in consequence of the envious interference of other religious
persons, she seemed to forget herself ; became less careful in

58 , EARLY DAYS.

her attire, less guarded in her conversation, less cleanly in her
habits, began to smoke tobacco, then to take liquors in small
quantity, and at length, after a course of years, during which
she abandoned every propriety save that of modesty, she was
found one morning drowned in the mill-pond. If ever a young
woman began life with a deservedness to be happy, this was
the one ; but worth was rendered worthless, a body was
ruined — degraded — a soul all but lost. Let humanity shed a
tear for the fate of this poor unfortunate.

Once or twice a year, generally when days became short, and
cloudy, and stormy, and we had long nights to sit by the fire ;
at such a time of the year, and oftenest at the close of day,
would the door of my uncle's house slowly open, and an old
woman leaning on a stick, with her face half muffled, and her
person concealed in an old brown cloak, and with sundry rags,
bags, and pockets swaggering under her clothes, would enter.
Instantly we knew her voice and made room for her to sit
down, for "Old Ailse o' Bharla" was always a favourite at
my uncle's fireside. She had plenty of tales, chiefly of an
admonitory and religious turn ; she had " a remarkable gift of
prayer," had also been ** unfortunate in the disposal of her
affection," was '* rather out of her mind " as they said, and
spent her time in wandering about from place to place, seeking
rest, but finding none. Her father was a farmer of some pro-
perty, residing in Birkle at about the year 1745, and Ailse
used to take the week's butter to Bury every Saturday. At
that time she was a smart, handsome, young woman, and
happened to attract the attention of a young dragoon quartered
at Bury, who was himself of respectable parentage, and bore
a good character in the regiment. The soldier became deeply
enamoured of the Birkle beauty, and lost not much time in
making known to her the state of his heart. The very idea of
being beloved by a common soldier, Alice looked upon as an
insult, and she consequently treated his advances with con-
tempt. The young man tried all means to induce her to lend
a patient hearing to his supplication, but the high-notioned
maid could not be prevailed on to listen. The lover was
respected by many of the townspeople as well as by his com-

LOVE DAWNING8. 159

rades, and he engaged several of the former to interest them-
selves in the promotion of his suit, but all was in vain — the
proud beauty would not listen. The youth remained hopeless,
and in that forlorn state he marched with the regiment from
Bury to Scotland. From thence he wrote several letters to
friends in Bury, which described in touching language the
strength of his hopeless love and the deplorable state of his
mind, and probably some passages at least , of these letters
would find their way to the damsel's ear. Whether, however,
it was from something which she heard at Bury, or from
some reproaches of conscience, or from " some dream or
vision," or some "apparition," or ** love spell" — for she
seldom would converse on the subject even with her most
confident friends — she suddenly became violently desirous
to see the young soldier, and to make amends for the slight
and neglect she had practised towards him. She procured
a horse and money, and travelled to Scotland, to the town in
which she knew he was quartered. She entered the place,
and as she and her steed, all weary and travel- worn, went
slowly up the street, the sound of a trumpet playing a mourn-
ful air attracted her notice, and soon after she met a soldier's
funeral procession. She stopped her horse to allow a free
passage ; several of the troopers gazed on her intensely and
began to converse ; at length she noticed one whom she re-
membered having seen at Bury, and him she took the liberty
of asking where she should find her lover, when the man,
pointing to the bier, said that was his quarters, and the only
place where he was then to be found. She fainted, and would
have fallen from her horse ; the procession halted ; the
soldiers collected around her ; they knew her ; they pro-
nounced her name. She was taken care of whilst the funeral
was completed. After some time she returned home — an
altered woman — a faded rose, — lost in heart — lost in mind —
a dream interpreter — a spell solver — a religious monomaniac
— an object of pity and in some degree of dread to all who
knew her. Such was the tale of " Old Ailse o' Bharla."

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOPE STILL DEFEEEED — NEW EMPLOYMENTS — NEW BOOKS.

On leaving Middleton I went to live with my sister in Green-
gate, Salford, and attended once more the school of my father's
old Methodist friend, John Holt, of Oldham Street, with a
view to my improvement in writing and arithmetic, but my
day for learning was gone by, and I took quite as much notice
of certain pretty figures which sat in the girl's room opposite
to me as I did of those in my book, and so I got not much
improvement this time. Mima, however, was not forgottei;!.
I had written to my cousin Thomas informing him of my
situation, and in a postscript desiring him to remember me
kindly to J. S., but the letter fell into my aunt's hands, and
our secret was discovered. To add to my chagrin also, when
I went to Middleton Mima was nowhere to be seen, having
gone on a visit to Liverpool, so that instead of some faint
chance of an interview which I had ventured to hope for, I
got nothing save sly jokes and inuendoes about my love for
J. S., and I returned home sadly disappointed.

But the time for confirmation arrived, and I, with many
thousands of other young folks belonging to Manchester,
received the bishop's blessing in the old church. It was with
us a matter of some anxiety whether the right hand or the
left of the venerable prelate should be placed on our heads,
and it was my good fortune to receive the pressure of his right
hand, which was considered a propitious omen. The day
following the youth from the country districts were to be
similarly admitted to Christian communion, and as I knew

160

HOPE STILL DEFEBBED. 161

that Mima would be with the Middleton party, I was in the
churchyard at an early hour, waiting with an anxiety which
made me indifferent to every other object. First one group
appeared, then another came up the Mill Gate, and many of
my old schoolfellows and playmates were amongst them ; but
the right one — the little cherry-blushing maid, with her light
auburn hair, and bright looks, and pale-blue frock, and straw
bonnet — was nowhere to be seen, and it was not until I had
waited and looked, and gazed down the narrow, crooked street,
and scrutinised each party as they approached — my sight be-
coming weary and my heart almost sick — that I at length
caught a glimpse of one amid a group of maidens who I
thought must be she whose coming I had so anxiously sought
for. Another glance, less rapid than the omen of my own
heart, told me that I was not mistaken, and the next moment
our hands met, and heart-throbbing, agitated, and happy, our
only words were mutual inquiries, confused and almost inco-
herent. My cousin Hannah, I found, was her companion, and
though I was always rather partial towards Hannah, in good
truth, I would she had at that time been in any other place.
She was, however, there, and I could not do less than behave
respectfully towards her ; it would have been unkind not to
have done so, a proceeding which, when a female was in the
case, was not to be thought of by me, was not in my nature.
And so, after the communion was over, we three formed one
company, and, after taking refreshment, spent some time in
looking through the wondrous old College, and in viewing the
shops in the square, and the toy- stalls in the Smithy Door,
where I made each of them a present of a breast-pin with an
initial, not all gold of a certainty, but as highly prized as if it
had been so, and had come from other hands. When the time
of departure arrived, I accompanied them a good distance on
the way home, in the hope that some accident would occur
which might detach my cousin and give me an opportunity of
uttering but one word to my enslaver, and of receiving her
assurance of affection in return, for of that I felt not the least
doubt ; but our attendant never left us for an instant, and I,
though again sorely disappointed, made up my mind to remain

VOL. I. 11

162 EARLY DAYS.

as contented as I could, with the expression of kind looks, and
one tender pressure of her dear hand only. And so, "hoping
soon to meet again," we parted, that hope being destined not
to be entirely realised.

I was shortly afterwards placed in the warehouse of Mr.
Spencer, counterpane and bed -quilt manufacturer, whose rooms
were at the bottom of Cannon Street. I was Mr. Spencer's
only warehouseman, and my duties were to sweep the rooms,
to light the lire, to dust the counters, and to fodder my master's
horse, which was housed in a small stable in the yard. I also
gave out goods, and took them in from the bleachers when my
employer was absent, and on like occasions when a buyer
came round it was my duty to show the goods and to sell them
if I could. I was thus become a person of some responsibility
all at once, and the estimation which I attached to my situation
was not of the most humble degree. My wages were certainly
rather of the lowest, being — if I recollect aright — about six
shillings a week, but as my work was light and I was learning,
as it were, the warehouse business, my wages were considered
reasonable for the time being. My hours of attendance were
from eight in the morning to six in the afternoon in summer,
and to five in winter, with an hour at noon for dinner. My
master resided somewhere near Levenshulme ; he was punctual
in his attendance in the morning and his departure in the
afternoon. He was an exact and economical man, though not
a severe master ; he liked to have things done at a proper
time, and to find every piece, and book, and paper, and
wrapper, and string in its proper place ; and as I was active
and obliging and also took some pride in having the rooms
neat, and the stock in order, I did not often incur his censure.
His temperate and economical habits led him, as I understood,
generally to dine on his return home ; sometimes he would lunch
in town, and occasionally he would send me to the Cockpit
Hill for a fourpenny veal pie, which he took in the warehouse
as a lunch. I liked my master very well, notwithstanding his
careful habits and his rather distant manners; I liked his
horse, however, better, when he and I had become acquainted^
He was one of that useful sort which can work either in a cart

NEW EMPLOYMENT. 163

or trot under a saddle, and was very docile — only, if there had
been more riding for me and less rubbing, I should have liked
our acquaintance still better.

After being in the employ of Mr. Spencer some considerable
time, I got a situation, at the advanced wages of eight shillings
a week, in the warehouse of Mr. Thomas Eobinson, of Hodson's
Square, whose residence was at Walshaw Lane, near Bury,
and who carried on a manufactory there of dimities and quilt-
ings. He also had an agent who made calicoes for him at New
Church, in Pendle Forest ; Mr. Eobinson 's town agent or sales-
man in Hodson's Square was a young man named W., who
had lately entered into Mr. Eobinson 's employment from that
of his uncle, a draper, of Melton Mowbray. My warehouse
duties here were much the same as at my former place, only I
had not a horse to attend upon, as Mr. Eobinson, when he
came to town on Tuesdays and Saturdays, put up at The
Dangerous Corner Inn, and left his nag there to be hostled.
My work was, however, much more laborious than at Mr.
Spencer's, and consisted chiefly in carrying goods up and down
the stairs, in taking rather heavy parcels out to buyers in the
town, and in packing up for country dehvery.

I cared little, however, about the weight of the work which
I was called on to perform, for being an active, clear- winded
lad, I was seldom really tired; but one piece of drudgery
which Mr. W. set me to do galled my feehngs very much,
and more so because I neither deemed the manner in which I
was made to perform it necessary, nor the performance itself
at all within the intention of my contract vnth my employer.
Mr. W., as was quite excusable in a young man of his condi-
tion, affected great smartness in his dress, and had his mind
been as well cultivated as his person was draped, he would
-have been a very intelligent gentleman indeed; but his manners,
pronunciation, and in fact every action and tone, betrayed the
rustic provincialist just come to the great mart of trade with
but one wish, one idea, that of gain, gain, gain. I, young and
inexperienced, and ignorant of the world as I was, could not
fail to draw comparisons betwixt my employer, the plain, un-
affected, but perfectly well-bred, well-informed man, and the

164 EABLY DAYS.

young country buck whom he had selected to do his business.
Both of them wore top-boots, and as Mr. W. would have his
perfectly clean, he initiated me into the mysteries of making
excellent blacking and boot-top liquid, and then installed me
in the honourable office of shoeblack and boot-cleaner to him-
self. I felt this to be an encroachment on my condition of
service, but as I never imagined that Mr. W. would do less
than make me a handsome present when I became expert at
the job, I did my best to please him. Weeks and months,
however, passed, Mr. W. having the distinction of sporting
the cleanest and best polished boots in the town ; but not one
word did he ever utter having the remotest allusion to remu-
neration. Sometimes when he put them on and turned round
his foot to see how smart they looked, he would, in one of his
pleasantest moods, say, '* Sam, thaw has done these very well,"
or, '* Sam, thaw has made these tops very nyst ; they almost
look as well as new ; " but never did my observant eye detect
his hand gliding into his pocket for a sixpence or a shilling to
give me for my trouble. And so when one morning he ordered
me to carry a slop-basin full of milk — for top-liquid — from his
lodgings in Salford to the warehouse, I refused, and told him,
once for all, I would neither clean tops nor black bottoms any
more. He looked a moment at me aghast and horrified by my
audacious rebellion, but finding me neither abashed nor tract-
able, he only intimated that Mr. Eobinson would have to be
informed of my insubordination. I, however, never heard
anything further respecting the matter, and probably Mr.
Eobinson was never made aware of the extra drudgery I had
performed.

About this time I was delighted by the acquisition of two
books, the existence of which, until then, had been unknown
to me. One was the second volume of Homer's Ihad, trans-
lated by Alexander Pope, with notes by Madame Dacier, and
the other was a small volume of Miscellaneous Poems, by John
Milton, Homer I read with an absorbed attention which soon
enabled me to commit nearly every line to memory. The
perusal created in me a profound admiration of the old heathen
heroes, and a strong desire. to explore the whole of "The tale

NEW BOOKS. ^-.^- ^gg

of Troy divine/* To the deep melancholy of the concluding
lines I fully responded.

" Be this the song, slow moving tow'rd the shore,
Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more."

With Milton I was both saddened and delighted. His
"L'AUegro" and *'I1 Penseroso" were but the expressions
of thoughts and feelings which my romantic imagination had
not unfrequently led me to indulge, but which, until now, I
' had deemed beyond all human utterance.

'• Some time walking not unseen ' '

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, ^

Right against the eastern gate, •

Where the great Sun begins his state, ' ' '

Eob'd in flames, and amber light, V

The clouds in thousand liveries dight. .....

« « * « *

Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide :
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies.
The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes,"

were the very whisperings of the spirit ever present in my
day musings, and which brooded over my night dreams. Then
again in " Penseroso " the line —

" Call up him who left half told,"

set my imaginative curiosity to work. What him ? who was
"him?" when did he live? where did he reside? and how
happened it that he

" left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold ? "

What a strangely interesting subject for thoughtful conjecture
was his ** story half told," with its Cambuscan, and Algarsife,
and Canace, who, whether or not she was ever wived at all,
was a mystery impenetrable to me. "^Samson Agonistes " and

166 EABLY DAYS,

" Paradise Kegained" were less attractive than were others of
the great bard's miscellaneous productions. His night witchery
of " Comus " was the very revel of poetry,

'* The star that bids the shepherd fold,
Now the top of Heaven doth hold,"

for instance, and

*• Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine,"

conveyed to my heart and my imagination ideas almost as
fascinating and dangerous as the spell which bound the fair
lady in her ** marble venom'd seat," while the concluding lines
of the mournfully quaint " Lycidas " inspired me with those
pleasing anticipations which are always awaiting the behest of
healthful, active youth.

" Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals gray,
He touch 'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay :
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay ;
At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue :
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new."

Oh ! John Milton ! John Milton ! of all the poetry ever read
or ever heard recited by me, none has so fully spoken out the
whole feelings of my heart — the whole scope of my imaginings
— as have certain passages of thy divine minstrelsy.

\ \

CHAPTEB XIX,

"Why should unavailing love
Be kept like hidden gold ? "

Neveb, probably, were the reveries of love and poetry more
deeply indulged in than they were by me in these my young
days of visionary romance. My warehouse work was certainly
a laborious reality, but what then ? I was more than equal to
any fatigue which I had to encounter. I performed all I had
to do cheerfully, readily, and thoroughly, and the hours flew
swiftly, if not altogether pleasantly, whilst my deepest thoughts
were engaged in far other scenes, and the objects constantly
occurring to my mental perception were of a quite different
nature. Very often, whilst bending beneath a load of piece
goods, as I carried them through the crowded streets, or
wiping the sweat from my brow as I rested in the noon sun,
would I be unconsciously wandering in imagination in the free
forest glades with Eobin Hood, or

" Over some wide water'd shore,"

with Milton. Then, in such a place as Manchester, where
beauty adorned by graceful art appeared at each step, I
frequently encountered objects which led my thoughts far
astray; and not only was the hardship of my situation for-
gotten, but, the present overcoming the distant, she to whom
I had silently vowed my true and loyal troth, was too often
absent from my meditations.

My chief companions at this time were a lad of about my
own age named Booth, who was serving an apprenticeship to

167

168 EARLY DAYS,

the business of a letter-press printer, and a young warehouse-
man named Fielding. After working hours we used frequently
in summer time to take our rambles in Broughton, and one of
our favourite spots was a piece of rough-broken ground lying
on the left of the first ascent of Stony Knows, and known by
the name of The Woodlands. Here were various out-of-the-
way footpaths, round green hillocks, and through winding
dells and hollows, with natural arbours of hazel and wild-rose,
and quaint cell-looking little nooks to sit in, where either in
the warm sun or in the shade, we could choose our seat ;
either in the breeze or under the wind that ruffled the gnarled
oak, and brushed the grey birch, and swept through the boughs
of the red-berried rowan, for such were the only woods
remaining, could we He down, or sit up, or read poetry or
romance, or sing, or laugh, or talk over our own little love
affairs or those of others. Pleasant Sunday rambles were
these, on cool dewy mornings, or on fine sunny afternoons,
and vastly did we young joking, laughter-loving frolickers
enjoy whatever was enjoyable in our own simple, humble
way — from a scramble which should pluck a dog-rose, to a
race which should first win the smile of a milkmaid and
purchase the warm cream from her can.

On one of these occasions, I and a companion were taking
this very pleasant round, and wishing that some beautiful
apples, which hung on the other side of the hedge, were ours,
when thump went a fine one on my companion's back, and in
a moment after I was very near being hit by another. We
gathered the fruit and laughed heartily, being greatly pleased
with the joke, but were puzzled in what terms to thank the
donor, whose person remained beyond our ken. " Who's
thrown 'em?" asked one. "What's thrown 'em?" asked
the other. '' Well, but mine's a good un," said the first
taster ; '* An' mine's as good," said the second. ** Thank
the thrower, whoever threw 'em," said the first speaker ;
" Aye, an* twenty times o'er were the thrower but a bonny
lass," said the second. " If she be a bonny lass, and she's as
good as she's bonny, she'll perhaps throw another," said the
first speaker; " I shouldn't wonder," said the second. And

THE GARDEN WALL, 169

\vith that two more apples were thrown, and we heard a laugh
and just caught a glimpse of a fair young maiden hasten-
ing from the orchard and crouching beneath the apple
trees. Quick, however, as was her disappearance, it was not
so quick but I knew her to be the sister of one whom I
had seen in the town, and who had recently come in for
a very considerable share of my deepest considerations.
She whom we had seen was indeed a bonny lass, as fair
as alabaster, and with locks as dark as those of an " Ethiope
queen/' whilst the one who had disturbed my equanimity was
older, taller, and bore in her manner and her features an
expression of sedate and comely beauty, the impression of
which I in vain tried to efface. To my poetic fancy she
seemed a near personification of Milton's ** Nun " —

" devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure ;
With sable stole of Cyprus lawn,
Over her decent shoulders drawn ; "

whilst the sable stole which she wore, being in mourning, was
truly befitting her grave and modest demeanour.

After I had been in Mr. Eobinson's employ a considerable
time, he removed from Walshaw to Bent House, in Prestwich.
Here he had a small farm attached to his holding, and when
they were busy in the hay, at his request, I willingly went over
to help them during a week. In some time after he disagreed
with his farming man, and he then wished me to go to
Bent House and undertake the man's work. I hardly relished
this ; I was not satisfied of my abihty to do the work
as it should be done. I liked my master, however, very
well, and his lady, and their little daughter " Mittey,"
as we used to call her, when I carried her in my arms
during the hay season ; and as it was a pleasure for me
to do anything which pleased my master, considering also
that it was my duty to do so in every lawful thing, I
consented, for a time, to resign Manchester and its attractions,
and so take up my abode at Prestwich. I set about doing my
work in the best manner I could, and as " where there is

170 EABLY DAYS.

a will, there is a way," I was not long in becoming
tolerably handy about my business. I had some notion
how to clean a horse before, and I soon learned how to
bed my master's neat tit down, and to rub the bits and
stirrups, and sponge the saddle, and bridle, and girths.
In the shippon I was equally active, except at milking, which
was done by one of the women. Knife cleaning I had to
learn, but that was easily done, whilst in the business of
boot-and-shoe polishing, the instructions which Mr. W. had
conferred on me came just to hand, as if this predicament
had been foreseen. Martha, the cook, a woman of mature
age, was very kind to me, for I was generally cheerful and
in good temper, and whenever she had to go anywhere
after darkness set in, being afraid of " spirits," I had to
go with her. The other cook, who came after Martha
left, was kind also ; so that I thought cooks were the best
creatures in the world. Nancy, the nurse, got blamed,
poor girl, for coming about the stable ; whilst Sarah, the
housemaid, a plain-looking, careful Yorkshire lass, soon
left, and her place was supplied by Mary H., the daughter
of a cottager residing close by, as thoroughly innocent and
sweet-looking a damsel was Mary as ever stepped in England.
My mistress got me to clean the plate, and next she wanted
me to wait at the table ; but that was a thing I could
never take up. I was thinking of far other things, and
always making some blunder, and at last Mary had to do
it instead of me. I had soon plenty of acquaintance in
this new place; there was Kobert B., who courted Mary,
and young Tummus C, who trailed the wing after Nancy,
Then there were milk customers from Eooden Lane, and
last, though not least to be thought upon, Old Wilde the
farmer, whose daughter Mary always welcomed me to a
seat by the fire. My mistress, though I could not please
her in all things, was a very kind and considerate lady
towards me. When I was attacked by a severe quinsy,
she attended me herself, blistered my throat, dressed the
blister, prepared a gargle, and saw that I used it ; in
short, she did for me what none of my fellow servants

THE OLD CONJUEEB, 171

could or would do, and she had the satisfaction of
receiving my grateful thanks after a short but severe crisis.
My master and mistress were both young people, and a
handsome couple they made, and with their two little ones,
they presented a group the like of which is but seldom
found in this world's scene. My mistress was very orderly
in her family arrangements, whilst my master was a steady
man of business, though not always fortunate. He made
no parade of religion, but read prayers before the whole
family every Sunday night.

On one occasion my master and mistress went on a
visit, during a week or so, leaving myself, the cook, and
the housemaid at home. One night the subject of fortune -
telling was talked about as we sat on the hearth, and it
was agreed that on the very next night I should accom-
pany the women to a famous seer of that description,
known by the name of " Limping Billy," who lived at
Eadcliffe Bridge. The thing was to be quite secret, and
so we got Mary Wilde and another woman to keep house
whilst we were away, telling them, what indeed was true,
that we were going over to Besses-o'th'-Barn, and would
soon return. So away we went on foot, and through
Besses-o'th'-Barn, and over the top of Pilkington to Badcliffe,
where we found the old conjurer domiciled up some steps
in a back yard. According to arrangement, the women
entered the place at once, whilst I retired to get a cup
of ale at a pubHchouse. So I waited here some time,
and when I supposed the secrets of futurity had been
unveiled, I mounted the steps, and without much ceremony
opened the door and entered the room. If my recollection
deceive me not, the apartment was a dimly lighted, roomy
place, with a close musty smell. Opposite the door stood
a plain uncurtained bedstead, containing what appeared to
be a bed, the colour of dirty sacking. A table with some
spoons and basins stood propped against the further wall,
an old oaken chair occupied a dark corner, a miserable-
looking fire glimmered in the grate, beside which, with his
knees almost up to his chin, seated behind a dirty, sloppy

172 MARLY DAYS.

table, with a single candle burning, or rather flickering,
appeared the wizard. My two companions sat with their
backs towards me, and he with his bony fingers, taloned
with long black nails, kept turning round and peering into
a tea-cup, mumbling all the time words the meaning of which
I could not comprehend.

** Hooas theer? " said he, suddenly looking up and gazing
full at me with a malicious and angry grin.

" It's only me," I replied.

'' Hooa arto," shouted the conjurer, " an' wot dusto want?"

" I'm waitin* o* these two young women," I replied.

" Then goo an' wait sumweer elze," he said, in a still angry
tone, " an' when they want'n the, they'n know wheer to find
the."

" Oh, it's only the lad 'at's comn wi' us," said one of the
young women.

" He may as weel wawk off at once," said the seer, " I'll do
no bizniz while he's i'th' place."

" Hee'l happen hav' his fortin towd," said the other girl.

"Hee'l ha' no fortin towd heer to-neet," said the con-
jurer.

" An' if it comes to that, I care no great deal either for you
or your fortin," I said, pretty well satisfied with what I had
observed, and coming out of the place.

More mortified than disappointed, I awaited the arrival
of the women in the street, when we adjourned to the public-
house, and whilst there partaking a glass of warm liquor, they
told me that old Billy had caught me laughing, and was very
angry at my daring to laugh in his presence. I admitted that
I certainly had been betrayed into a not very reverential
feeling when I saw them listening so demurely whilst the old
impostor peered into his dirty cup and mumbled his prog-
nostics. Nor, as I learned from various hints, was the
result of their inquiry such as they had hoped it would
be. One of them could not hear anything whatever
respecting a particular ''old sweetheart," whose coming
she had awaited during years, but who never came ; whilst
the other, whose cheeks were burning, and ears almost

A FIBST MEETING. 173

cracking, to be assigned to a certain ** young man of a
fresh complexion and light hair," was inexorably awarded,
so said the cup, to one rather aged, stooping, and dark
haired. Neither of them, I found, was satisfied, and in order
to dispel their evil bodings, I ridiculed old Bill and his
trade until they joined me in laughing at their adventure
as well as my own, and so in this lively mood we set off
towards home, and arrived there better pleased with ourselves
and our journey than we had at one time expected to be.
I may mention, that in the end, the one got married to
her "old sweetheart," and the other to her ** fresh com-
plexioned " young fellow. Whilst I was very near being a
prophet, old Billy proved an impostor, and the mirth of
our home walk was the wisest part of the whole affair.

One day when returning from Manchester, I was overtaken
in going up the Eed Bank, by a heavy storm of wind and rain,
and seeing before me an old woman muffled in her cloak, well,
thought I, the old creature shall, at any rate, have a share of
my umbrella, if she will. So I walked up beside her and said,
'' Good mother, come and take shelter under this covering of
mine," and I stepped short that she might come under, when
at that moment looking up, she displayed a countenance the
very type of angelic loveliness, so youthful, so abashed, so
gentle, so innocent, and withal so serious, that I blamed my-
self for having accosted her in that abrupt manner, though
with the best of intentions.

"Lord, save us!" at length said I, "that I should have
taken such an one as thee for an old woman ! " For as a
country lad, I was in the habit of theeing and thouing my
equals in years and condition.

"You shouldn't try your jokes on strangers," she rephed,
with a look of reproof, and pausing in her gait that I might
pass on.

" If there be truth in human words," I said seriously, "I
could not attempt to jest with thee."

•*Why not?" she inquired, "you seem rather apt at the

thing."

" Indeed I do often jest, like others of my condition, but if

174 EARLY DAYS.

thou will believe me, I could not do so whilst looking on a face
like thine."

" How then could you pretend to have taken me for an old
woman?"

" I had not then marked thy bonny look, and the wind and
the rain had caused thy cloak to be so muffled, hood over
bonnet, that thou wert in a close guise. Besides, speaking
truly, I did think thou walked somewhat wearily up this hill ;
and I felt moved, for my own mother has travelled this road
in many a storm ; and I thought this is also somebody's
mother, sure enough." And then, when the fair being saw
that I was moved, she gave a pardoning look, and said :

" Well ! since you do not intend to banter me, I will confess
I did walk slowly, for I have a pain here," pressing her hand
on her left side.

"If, then, when thinking thou wert aged, I hastened to
show thee kindness, surely now I find thee to be young, and
passing fair also, I may be allowed to show thee respect. See
how the rain again pours, and how the wind blows, and how
the leaves are swept from the hedges. Trust me, lass, and
walk on this quiet side, and I'll break the storm, never fear."

And so I kept my stout umbrella to the wind, and she
walked by my side, her golden hair scarcely ruffled by the
wind. And when there came a flash and an astounding roar
of thunder, she stopped, trembled, and looked imploringly,
and I drew her arm over mine, saying, ** Trust God, and fear
not. He who hurls the bolt can avert the blow."

Such was my first meeting, and such nearly the terms of my
first conversation, with my beautiful Catherine — the daughter
of a widow who kept a small farm in Crumpsall.

The thunder soon rolled at a distance, the rain began to
abate, the wind almost ceased, still, arm in arm, we proceeded
until we arrived at the top of Smedley Lane, where there were ,
stumps leading to a footpath across the meadows, and here
we parted, but not before an appointment had been made for a
second meeting.

Oft we met again, and took lonely walks in those pleasant
undulating pastures, and when her mother came to know

PARTING FOB A TIME. 176

about our meetings, she said no one should marry her daughter
who could not fetch her away on his own horse. And thereat
I felt abashed, I thought I was sure enough presumptuous,
and that I had not any right to stand in the way of the old
mother's expectations on behalf of her daughter ; and so I said
at one of our stolen interviews, "How shall this be, dear
Catherine? " and she advised that for the present our meetings
should be discontinued. ** My mother will become more
reconciled," she said, " and we shall become older, and better
settled in the world ; meanwhile, let us not forget each other,
but exchange tokens of affection, to be looked upon with kind
remembrance when we are distant." And we exchanged love
tokens; and after a long interview, and many last words and
turnings again, we parted, and I went to Prestwich very dov^n-
cast, and wishing I had a farm and a horse of my own, that I
could make a home for my dear Catherine.

/■ • >

CHAPTEE XX.

OTHER SCENES.

Soon after this my master gave up his manufacturing concern
and removed to Manchester, and after a short stay there, he
commenced business as a shipbroker at Liverpool, where I
believe he died. On his leaving the Manchester trade, our late
bookkeeper and salesman, Mr. W., began business himself,
and I went with him as porter and warehouseman the same as
before. Our establishment was removed to High Street, and
we did much business in prints and calicoes, both grey and
white : a cheap bargain of any kind had always a good chance
of being taken up by my employer. Trade was now going
very well, and vast sums of money were speedily realised by
shrewd, active, and enterprising tradesmen, and of this class
my employer was certainly one of the most remarkable.

I continued my poetic readings at all leisure moments. I
procured and read speedily a complete Iliad in English. Some
of Shakespeare's works having fallen in my way, I read them
with avidity, as I did almost every other book, and though
deeply interested by his historical characters and passages, I
never either then or since relished his blank verse, or that
of any other poet. I never, as it were, could get the knack
of it ; and as compared with rhymed poetry, it has always
seemed to me, indeed,

•' Like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag."

If any one wishes to see a play performed he has only to
walk the streets of Manchester, or any other of our large

176

OTHER SCENES. 177

I r

towns, and he may behold the perfection of either tragedy or
comedy enacted by performers who need neither prompter,
call-boy, nor rehearsal ; but all coming and going as regularly
as if the piece were a play '' got up " and " put on the stage,"
as the phrase is, *' put on ready for representation." The
scenes are admirably painted — the machinery perfect in its
operations, of wonderful construction, and sometimes of most
awful effect. The actors might have been made for the per-
formance of their several parts, so aptly do they go through
them ; whilst the dresses, decorations, and all the accessories
of the piece, are sure to be wonderfully befitting. And with
such a stage as this, with its ever- varying reality before our
eyes, who can require sham repetition as an after-part ? Not
I at any rate.

Milton's miscellaneous works were still my favourites. I
copied many of his poems into a writing book, and this I did,
not only on account of the pleasure which I felt in their repe-
tition, and in the appropriation, so to speak, of the ideas, but
also as a means for the improvement of my handwriting,
which had continued to be very indifferent. The Odyssey and
iEneid, which I also procured and read about this time,
seemed tame and languid, whilst the stirring call of the old
Iliadic battle trumpet was ringing in my ears, and vibrating
within my heart. In short, I read or attentively conned over,
every book I could buy or borrow, and as I retained a pretty
clear idea of what I read, I became rather more than com-
monly proficient in book knowledge, considering that I was
only a better sort of porter in a warehouse.

I was now a strong, active young fellow, fast rising into
a man, with somewhat of a will and a way of my own ; and
with a coolness of thought, and a steadfastness of purpose,
increasing with my years, and strengthening with my strength.
I had not yet become a beer drinker, but I could take my half
pot of porter whilst at work on a hot day without feeling the
effects of the liquor, and though I was not in the least quarrel-
some, but on the contrary was given to good-humoured jocu-
larity, I would as lief almost have had a battle on my hands,
in a right cause, as have been without one ; and so in this line

VOL. I. 1.2

178 EABLY DAYS.

I not unfrequently met with some rough amusement. I kept
still, however, adhering to my simple habits and diet, working
my work promptly, and\ perhaps zealously, and giving the
remainder of my time to the reading of my favourite authors,
to country strolls at eventide, or on Sundays, or to a good
swim or two in season at Sandy Well or Broughton Ford,
with my acquaintance. Seldom did my inclination or my
connections lead me to the theatre. That sort of thing did
not please me ; there was too much of tinsel and clap-trap,
too little of reality, of thorough natural freshness for my taste.
And when I did go, I never came away without an impres-
sion which spoiled all the rest, that I had been witnessing a
delusion. Neither my spare hours, therefore, nor my loose
change were often spent at the play-house ; my home-goings
were consequently more early and regular than they other-
wise might probably have been. I went to rest betime, and
rose clear-headed, and with a strength and buoyancy of limb
that mocked toil and weariness. My breakfast was generally
a basin of milk, with a good thick slice round a loaf toasted
and soaked in. My dinner I either took at the cook's shop at
the corner of Brown Street, where the Commercial Hotel now
is, or at the pie-house in Cockpit Hill, where in repay for my
free and cheerful discourse with the old lady, and my gentle
deference to the daughter, I was frequently offered the use of
a plate and knife and fork, and those were favours not accorded
to many. My supper would be bread and milk again. My
bed was a very humble but cleanly one, in the upper room of
a tall sombre-looking tenement occupied by one widow
Pickup and her daughter — a little pale, prim, automatic,
fastidious body, whose only solace now was in the artless
prattle of her young unfathered child. The house was situated
in a strangely isolated yard, bounded on all sides by a high
wall, or by the back walls of other houses, and approachable
only by a narrow covered passage closed by a door, and
leading out of another long alley called Ditchfield Court,
which latter place was accessible only by steps from that end
of that quaint and antique old street called Long Mill Gate,
which emerges in the open space, formerly known as The
Apple Market, close to the Old Church.

OTHER SCENES, ^ 179

'' From this part of the town, Strangeways, Broughton, and
the Cheetham Hill road being the most ready outlets into the
country, it not unfrequently happened that my steps almost
involuntarily took the direction of the latter quarter, and that
on many occasions when I merely purposed to stroll as far as
Smedley or Cheetwood, I found myself lingering upon and
retracing the footpaths on which Catherine and I had so often
strayed. A feeling of profound but benignly soothing melancholy
was at these times ever present, humbling my heart and
straightway reassuring it —

*' Wounding as it were to cure,
Strength 'ning only to endure." ^ <

On one of these occasions, when these sadly solacing
communings, protracted until night, found me wandering
like something lost, I was recalled to consciousness by the
barking of a dog, and the flashing of a light, and the clapping
to of a gate, through which I saw Catherine pass swiftly
towards a dwelling at a short distance from the one she had
left, which was her mother's. I took my station under a
hedge and awaited her return, and when she approached, I
gave the same low whistle which she had often heard before,
and she stopped, holding up the lanthorn, and exclaiming,
" Bless us, lad ! can that be you ? " I came from my covert
\- and convinced her it was myself, come I scarcely knew how or
why, as I said, but hoping against despair that I might once
more catch a glimpse of her dear form through the window,
or hear her voice, or at least see some one of the family who
I knew had seen her, and then I could return contented,
" Indeed," she said, taking the hand which I extended, "you
are very kind ; but how cold you are — you have been out in
the dew until you are wet and starved : wait a few minutes,
and I will make an excuse to come out again ; I have something
to tell you." And with that she disappeared through the gate,
-and went into the house. She was as good as her word. In
a short time I heard her well-known step, and went to meet
her, and as I modestly embraced her, and expressed a thousand
thanks for this token of her kindness and confidence, she bade

180 EARLY DAYS.

me hush, and leading me beneath some trees, said she believed
me to be worthy of her confidence, even of her affection, or
she should not have met me again, but that her stay must be
short, and that this meeting would perhaps be our last as
lovers.

It would be of little use were I to attempt to narrate the
particulars of all that was said on that mournful occasion.
The conversation of lovers is seldom interesting to any save
themselves. I urged, I pleaded, I besought, I even reproached
and again pleaded, with every persuasive which my unpractised
but heart-bursting emotion could pour forth, in order to induce
her to say that we should once more live for each other, but in
vain. All she would promise was that this should not be our
final parting, but that, whatever might be the consequence, she
would meet me once more.

The simple-minded but tenacious girl made known to me,
however, in the most kindly and confiding manner, the circum-
stances which had induced her thus unexpectedly to sacrifice
our mutual happiness. She, like the girls at Prestwich, had
been trying to look into futurity, and had given ear to the
prophecies of an old fortune- telling woman, who said " it was
not our fate to be united," "that if the connection was not
broken off one of us would die," ** that an evil star was in the
table of our destiny," " that, in fact, if the acquaintance was
continued, I should prove false in the end." " And so," added
the distressed and almost terrified girl, ** what must be, must
be." '* It is of no use striving against the decrees of Provi-
dence." "It is a great misfortune, but it might have been
worse ; we can still esteem each other, nay, love each other
as dear friends, even meet each other as friends in passing
through the world, and surely that will be enough. If we can -
each be certain of one true * friend in need and indeed,' we
shall be fortunate after all."

When I tried to reason her out of her delusion, she informed
me that the old woman was "infalhble," and that before she
gave a final decision she always had access to the body of a
lady which lay embalmed in one of the rooms of a certain
great house which stood on the roadside leading to Manchester,

OTtiEU SCENES, 181

and that whatever she in consequence foretold, it was useless
to attempt to evade.

And so, with one fond embrace, and mutual prayers that
God would protect and bless us through life, we again parted,
and I, with my heart somewhat consoled by the assurance of
meeting her once more, returned to my quiet and solitary old
domicile.

I now became moody and melancholy, brooding over my ill
success in courtship, and wondering how it happened that love
like mine should go unrequited. I felt piqued also, and my
pride was wounded, that the fiat of an old woman should have
had more influence than all my entreaties. In my intercourse
with the fair sex, the emotions of the heart had hitherto been
my only offering, and now the unworthy surmise first occurred
that the offering had been too pure, that the heart and the
imagination alone of man could not suffice for womankind,
that the beings I had adored were not so entirely divine as my
poetry had painted them, and that, if I would be really loved
with a womanly love, mine must be of a less ethereal nature
than it had hitherto been. This notion I found to be the
confirmed opinion of some of my more experienced acquaint-
ance, who laughed at my simplicity, and with this dangerous
and debasing impression on my mind, I began to think there
would be but little sin in my acting differently from what I
had done. That persuasion had an immediate and injurious
effect on my conduct, and the consequences soon followed.

I first set about ridding myself of the influence which every
female, in whatsoever degree, had upon my feelings. I resolved
to love them all ahke, and never more to give to woman the
power of inflicting pain such as I had endured. With the aid
of pride, which I summoned to my assistance, and a strong
resolve to be free, I flattered myself that I had accomplished
this feat pretty soon, and I began to breathe with greater
confidence. From all the female sex I had taken a distance,
one was as near to me as another, and none were near enough
to wound. I could gaze on beauteous woman without emo-
tion ; I could converse with her in terms of the coolest civility,
whereas my heart-movings would in past times have em-

182 EARLY DAYS.

barrassed my utterance. I wa? no longer her slave ; and tlie
only duty I thenceforward acknowledged as owing to her was
to protect and please her, and in return, when so disposed, to
accept of her endeavours to please. But never again was she
to have my happiness at her disposal. So I became, as I
thought, a free-and-easy young fellow, with few things to care
about save the performance of my labour, the receipt of my
wages, and the partaking of such amusements as my humble
means afforded. A dangerous position was this for youth of
my present turn of mind to occupy. My father, whom I
, frequently called to see, never failed to give me the best of '
advice, and I deferred to it for the moment, but seldom did its
influence long remain after I had quitted his presence. To
three points of his advice, however, I have, I hope, adhered
through life, namely, to stand up for the right and fear not, to
be inflexibly honest, to avoid all approach towards presump-
tuous assurance, and rather endeavour to be marked for solid
worth.

Hitherto " fond and sinless love " had been my protection
against many temptations, but now that was gone I found
myself beset with inducements to vice which I had previously
deemed not worth a thought. There was a void in my exis-
tence, and it required to be filled up by some means. Small
tipples of ale became not unfrequent ; my company keeping
was more promiscuous ; my conversation less modest ; and my
deportment less reserved. Irreverent thoughts would obtrude
whether at church or chapel, and those places became mere
rendezvous, where this one might be seen, or that one might
be found, or where an hour or two might be spent as at a
theatre, in the show of fine clothes, and hearing the drone of
tranquillising music. In short, I was fast ripening into a
graceless young ruffian, loving no one as I could once have
loved ; beloved by no one as I would have been beloved ; and
preserving only so much of self-respect as guaranteed my
integrity, and the* performance of my duties to my employer.

But a new allurement now crossed my path, and had it not
been that the instrument for trial was just the one it was, my
demoralisation might have taken a decided and fearful course. ,

{jiniLJx ounjisiiJis. 188

One night, as I was proceeding home, a woman of the town
took hold of my arm, and desired me to go with her. I had
never been so accosted before, and as she walked on with me
the thoughts of being seen with such an one at my side
covered my cheeks with burning shame. Confiding, however,
in my own self-control, I took the dangerous resolve of hearing
what she had to say, and of observing what she would do. I
therefore suffered her to continue her conversation, and she
led me into less frequented streets, and by back corners, where
under the shroud of darkness her blandishments had well-nigh
shaken my virtuous resolves. Something she said about " the
sweet air of the country," when I asked her if she came from
the country ? and on her replying that she did, I questioned
her as to where she came from, and did not my ears tingle,
and my heart leap, when she said " from Middleton." *' Ah ! "
I said, '* I come from Middleton." "Did I?" what was my
name then? I told her, when, uttering an exclamation of
joyful surprise, she would have smothered me with caresses.
I next questioned her as to her name, and seemingly incredu-
lous, she asked me if I really did not know her ? I assured
her I did not, and she wept to think, as she said, that she
should have carried me in her arms when I was an infant, and
now that we should meet here and I did not know her. Who
could she be ? I again asked, and she mentioned a name at
the hearing of which I almost sank to the earth. She had
been born and brought up at the house next door to that of
my parents ; she was the beloved child of their early friends
and associates ; she married when I was but an infant, and
her husband, when I could run about, used to make whip-cord,
and kites, and banding to fly them with for me. I knew the
man well at that time ; he was still living, and it not unfre-
quently happened that I was in his company when I went
over to Middleton. I was disgusted with myself and her. I
shuddered at the sin which I had well-nigh committed, though
she would have continued her blandishments, and even pressed
me for an assignation at another time. But my soul revolted,
and I got rid of her by paying for a glass of hot liquor at ''The
Dangerous Corner " pubUchouse. Dangerous indeed.

CHAPTEE XXI.

OLD FEELINGS AWAKENED — A VISIT, AND OTHEE MATTERS.

Fortunately, however, for me, I was for the present some-
what recalled from this unsettled course of life by an incident
which, though trifling in itself, gave a starthng impulse to my
dormant feelings. A young woman, an acquaintance of, and
near neighbour to, Mima, my young Middleton favourite,
accosted me one day in the streets of Manchester, and re-
proached me for having, as she said, forgotten the little
maiden, who, she gave me to understand, still retained a
tender remembrance of former days. Was that true ? was it
possible that she could cherish a kind recollection of one who
had been so long absent ? I asked. She said it was even as
she had stated. This moved the old pulses of my heart, and
awoke that tender feeling of regard which had been too long
dormant. I entrusted the young woman with a kind message
to Mima, confirming it with a small token which I thought
would be acceptable, and I did not forget to make a present
of a gay ribbon to the bearer of this unhoped-for but welcome
information. I now resolved to see my fair agitator, at all
events, and to learn from herself, frankly and promptly if
possible, whether or not our former friendship was to be
renewed, or abandoned at once and for ever. I therefore went
to Middleton the Sunday following, and as Fortune I suppose
was just at that time not in a humour for throwing impedi-
ments in my way, I obtained an interview with the object of
my solicitude, and besides finding her as modest and be-
witching as ever, the very model of a little head-bowed, health-
flushed Hebe, a lily rose-tinted, I had the ineffable pleasure of

184

UliD FEELINGS AWAKENED.

185

[^

receiving in her own words, with every grace of maidenly-
shame, an acknowledgment that I had long been, and still
was, regarded with a more than friendly interest by her. This
was enough for the present, and after making arrangements
whereby we might correspond by letter, I bade adieu to the
dear little girl, and walked back to Manchester in a state of
mind to which I had long been a stranger. I felt that in this
transaction I had, in fact, only performed a duty ; that my
early love had after all the most rightful claim to my affection ;
that she was in every respect worthy of it ; and that, in this
instance as in many others, the performance of duty had been
my guide to happiness. I was again as deeply in love as ever,
only this time I was serenely contented ; my confidence was
greater, the void in my heart was filled, and I was happy.

I had been of opinion for some time, that my services to
Mr. W. were worthy of an increased remuneration, and I
mentioned the matter, but my employer could not be prevailed
upon to adopt my views, and so after the expiration of a
month's notice I left his service.

It was about this time that on going home one evening,
I saw a young fellow beating a girl in the street.

** Hallo, you fellow," I said, **what are you abusing that
girl for?"

" What's that to you? " said the blackguard.

"I'll let you see whfeit it is to me if you lay a finger on her
again."

*' Oh, you will, will you," said he ; *' come on then."

So we set to, and in five minutes I beat him till he was
dizzy and had enough. I then led the girl from the crowd, and
as we were going she told me he had beaten her because she
could not supply him with money for his night's revel. Was
he her husband then ? I asked. She said he was not, and
gave me to understand that she was an unfortunate girl, and
that he had latterly been supported from the wages of her
prostitution. " He wanted some to-day," she said, " whereas
I have not tasted meat since yesterday morning."

**Not tasted meat? "

'*' Not one crumb," said the girl, wiping her bleeding mouth

/
/

l.

'■■ y

1

V

y' '.:

18G EARLY DAYS.

and tear- wet cheeks ; " not one single crumb has passed my
lips."

" If that be the case," I said, '' thou hadst best come this
way ; " and so I led her to a cook's shop, where according to
her choice, she had a plate of hot pie, which I paid for and left
her eating it.

*' Did I not promise that I would meet you once more," said
a gentle voice, as I stepped into the street.

" Good heavens ! Catherine ! " I said, " is that you."

"It is even me, and I have now redeemed my promise."

** Did you see me go in here ? " I said.

** I saw both you and your companion go in," she said ; "I
marked you coming down the street."

"Dear Catherine, you seem unwell — you are agitated; let
us seek a more suitable place."

" This place is very suitable, for all I now have to say is^
to bid you good-bye."

" Shall I not go with you ? " I asked.

"No, I have company here," she replied, pointing to an
elderly woman who stood at a short distance. " Farewell,"
she added, " Old Lissy might have been further mistaken ; "
and with that she stepped over to the old woman, and they
both went down the Mill-Gate — one of them looking back, as
I perceived, ere they finally disappeared.

Poor Catherine ! Three months previously I could not have
believed that a meeting and parting of ours could have taken
place with so little emotion on my side.

It was now the season when Middleton wakes was ap-
proaching, and as Mima would have to come to Manchester to
buy a new gown, we arranged in all the simplicity of om'
hearts, that she should call at my lodgings, when I would ac-
company her in shopping, and afterwards see her on the way
towards home. I gave my landlady to understand that a
young woman, " my cousin, from the country," would be
there that day. Well, I waited all the morning, but Mima
came not ; all the noon, but there was no appearance of the
expected one. Two, three, four o'clock were gone, and unable
to rest I kept passing and repassing from my lodgings to the

A VISIT AND OTHER MATTEBS. 187^

street and back again ; still my *' dove appeared not at the
window ; " and during a pang which was not to be borne, I
rushed into the street, and paced, very probable like one
deranged, two or three times across the Baron's yard. In a
few minutes I controlled myself sufficiently to return, and was
preparing to stride desperately the steps of the entry, when,
looking up, who should be coming down, agitated and trem-
bling, but the dear one who had caused all my uneasiness.
" Eh, Mima ! " '' Eh, Samhul ! " were our only exclamations,
as we stood gazing on each other, unable for a moment to
reciprocate any other token of pleasure. My old landlady and
one or two old neighbour women stood at the upper end of the
court, eyeing us and om- motions with the knowing curiosity
for which persons of their condition are remarkable. " She's
Samhul's cousin from the country," said my landlady.
*' Nay," replied another, ''yonder are no cousins." " If they
are cousins," remarked a third, ''they're cousins an' some-
thing else besides."

I wished Mima to stop and have tea, but she declined, not
liking the scrutiny of the old women, who had been putting
questions to her when she went up the court to inquire for me.
Besides she had two young girls with her whom she had left
waiting in the churchyard, so I went with her and we found the
'girls, and after shopping and looking through the town, we
returned and rested at Tinker's Gardens, then a sweet bowery
place, and still as soHtude on that week-day afternoon. Here
we took refreshment in one of the secluded arbom-s, and whilst
our two young companions strolled round viewing the gardens,
I and my fair one had a most agreeable opportunity for expres-
sing all that our full hearts permitted us to say. As night
approached, we left this pleasant place, and I escorted my com-
pany into the new high-road which was then in the course of
formation betwixt Manchester and Middleton. We knew not
how to part, and I kept going further and further until we
arrived at Middleton, where having seen Mima and her com-
panions within a few yards of home, I left them and returned
to Manchester with as much happiness in my heart as a
human being could experience and live.

188 EARLY DAYS.

The ensuing wakes at Middleton was probably celebrated
with a greater degree of finery and a more plenteous hospitality
than it had ever been before, or has been since : besides
banners, groves of evergreen, garlands of flowers, and dancers
numerous, not fewer than six bands of music paraded the
town, and eleven rush-carts. But Mima and I left all the
gaud, and the music, and the wonder-seeing crowd, to have
our lone walks in the woods. To us the wakes and everything
connected with it appeared as vanity unworthy of human
thought. Mima took her milking cans and I went with her,
but when we got to the woods the kine were not to be found,
so we left the cans at the milking booth — a shed of wattles —
and a most pleasant excursion we had in search of the cows,
and after rambling long, often, indeed, forgetful of the beasts,
we found them at last, in a shady hollow, licking the tender
herbage that fringed a little rill. So we drove them to the
booth and Mima milked them, and then with her cans, one in
the other and gracefully balanced on her head, we returned to
the crowded street and separated. That evening, however,
we had another and a longer walk. Turning away from
" vanity^ fair," we sought the lone bypaths and sweet meadows
of Hopwood, where, whilst the jingle and hubbub sounded
afar off, we

" Wander'd by the greenwood-side,
And heard the waters croon ;
And on the bank beside the path,
For hours thegither sat,
In the silentness of joy."

And many a time since that happy eve have the same twain
been seated on that *' Bank beside the path," in the muteness
of sorrow, as well as '* In the silentness of joy."

CHAPTEK XXII.

SELF-DISPOSAL, BUT NOT SELF-CONTBOL — FURTHER DEROGATION

AND CONSEQUENT TROUBLE.

At this time the trade was going remarkably well, and weaving
Was a very profitable employment. I went back to live at
Middleton, and got a loom with board and lodgings at an old
acquaintance of my father's. Being now master of my own
time, I partook of country amusements with the other young
fellows of the neighbourhood, and frequently went out a-
hunting. After one of these gatherings when we had a very
hard run, during which I had footed it pretty cleverly, one of
the old hunters, Sam Stott by name, was so pleased with my
performance, that when the hunt was over he insisted on
treating me. We accordingly turned into the first public-
house we came to, and that happened to be the identical one
at Trub Smithy, at the door of which '' Tummus' Cawve"'was
unfortunately killed, which accident is so well described in
Tim Bobbin's celebrated '* Lancashire Dialect." The day had
been excessively wet, which had not, however, prevented
a very large attendance at the hunt. The publichouse was
consequently crowded, but Old Sam contrived to make a way
into a corner, where he having ordered some *' warm ale and
ginger," the best thing in the world, he said, after a wet day,
we sat drinking until our clothes were dry on our backs, that
being the only natural and proper way, as he insisted, in which
clothes ought to be dried, fires being intended for roasting and
boiling meat only, and to warm old women, but never meant
for the drying of hunters' clothes. So we made ourselves
comfortable, and as may be supposed, by the time our clothes

189

190 EABLY JDAYS.

were dry, we were rather far beyond the line of sobriety.
This was, I believe, my first decided offence of that nature,
and well had it been had it been my last.

This breach, slight as it appeared to me at the time, was
followed by grave consequences. It led to a new set of ac-
quaintances, to a wider and wilder range of enjoyment ; it
wonderfully loosened my notions of propriety, already too much
relaxed in one respect, and brought ixie to the conclusion that
" as a young man was not answerable for the conduct of those
whose company he kept, neither was he to be damaged by the
associating with them," that there was no great harm in
" doing as others did," and that '* there were worse things
after all, than a young fellow getting a drop too much, now
and then." This was a pitiable state of mind for one of my
age to be in ; and though I did not, in consequence, become a
reprobate and a habitual drunkard, I became more easy
about the scandal and the sin of inebriety, and the path to
other transgressions was thus temptingly laid open.

One day I was startled by the sound of the fife and the
drum, and on going to learn the cause, I found the overseers
and constables at one of the publichouses, enlisting volunteers
for the " army of reserve." I immediately offered myself, and
was the first that was accepted. After that a number of
young men joined ; we got a shilling each and a cockade, with
as much ale as we chose to drink, and the consequence was
that, hke the rest of my comrades, I went home in much the
same condition as that in which I returned from the hunting
bout. On the day following we had another meeting with the
town's officers, and after parading round the neighbourhood
with fife and drum, we enlisted as many as we wanted, and we
separated in the same state as we were in the night before.
After which we were never more mustered, or even called
upon ; and all the money expended, as far as the township of
Middleton was concerned, was entirely thrown away. Con-
stables and overseers had, in those days, a very straight-
forward way of doing business. On receiving an order, or
even a direction less tangible, from a magistrate or magistrate's
clerk, it was forthwith carried into effect. The magistrate was

SELF-DISPOSAL, BUT NOT SELF-CONTROL. 191

everything, the ratepayers and vestry nothing, and money was
expended which was never inquired into afterwards. If the
i^inister, or some one or two of the " gentleman ratepayers,"
put a question or so to the overseer when he met him, and the
reply was, " Oh, Mr. A. or Mr. B. the magistrate ordered it,"
all would be right, and nothing further would be said about
the matter. These sort of affairs are managed somewhat
differently now in this year 1848, when I am writing these
lines.

It was at this time, whilst I was a recruit with my cockade

in my hat, that I first heard the Song of '* Jone o' Grinfilt," at

Manchester. It was a sort of doggerel that took well, being

just suited to current events and the taste of the loyally

vociferous multitude. We have now been at peace during

thirty years, and the multitude is still here, many-headed,

doud-tongued, as of yore, but where is the loyalty ? Here

absolutely it is not. With no English multitude is it to be

found. How, then, has it been banished, and whither is it

gone ? These are questions which I think are worthy of the

deep consideration of our philosophers and statesmen, and to

their elucidation I must leave them. One opinion, however,

I, humble as I am, may venture to propound, and that is,

there have been great faults somewhere, or all the ancient

loyalty of our working population would not have disappeared

and left, as it has done, in its stead, Irish felony in our towns,

and riff-raff Chartism in our villages. Assuredly there has

been enormous mismanagement somewhere, and our gracious

Queen, when she meets her faithful Commons, would do well

to put the question — What has become of the loyalty of that

"bold peasantry," once their ''country's pride"? Is it

, destroyed ? Why has it been destroyed ? — These would be

i found to be potent and puzzling questions, I think.

Having thus wended my downward course pretty rapidly, with
now and then a pang of conscience which was soon quieted, and
a flush of shame which was soon suppressed : having become
a hunter with the wildest, a lover of company not the choicest,
one no longer a stranger at the tavern, and a follower of the
fife and drum, the reader will scarcely be surprised at learning

192 EARLY DAYS.

that further humiliation awaited me ; and that during one of
my wild outbreaks, having obtained the company of a York-
shire lass, as thoughtless as myself, it was not long before I
became amenable to the parish authorities, for certain expenses
which were about to be incurred.

My old uncle and aunt, with whom I again lived, read me
some very grave lessons when the news of this affair broke
out. For my part, I was covered with confusion, and torn by
remorse, for I had early discovered that, had there been no
other female in the way, I never could have made up my mind
to become the husband of the one I had thus injured. I was
somewhat reUeved, however, by learning that she took the
affair less to heart than many would have done, and that the ob-
tainment of a handsome weekly allowance was with her as much
a subject of consideration as any other. I say I was relieved,
but I never hoped, never attempted to palliate the wrong I had
done, or to evade the shame I had incurred.

One morning about Christmas, after being out spending the
night, I returned home and flung myself on the bed with my
clothes on. It was just breaking day when I heard the front
door, which I had left unbolted, open, and a rough voice shout
"Hallo!" I desired my cousin Hannah, who I had heard
was awake, and who slept in the same chamber with her
brother and myself, to ascertain who the person was, and she
tried to do so, but could only make out that it was some
strange person, and that he wanted her father. I being-
dressed, went downstairs at once, and found a tall, powerful,
broad- set man standing with his back against the door-post,
and holding the door catch with one hand. I knew him
instantly to be Samuel Fielding, the constable, for the shutters
being closed and the place quite dark, I could see him against
the grey of the morning whilst he could not distinguish me.
'* Whot," I said, " aryo wantin' mi feyther, then? "

'* Aye," he replied; '* but dusno one Samhul Beamfort live
beer ? "

*' Yoy he dus," I said ; '* dunyo want him too ? "

** Aye, I awnt him too," he replied, " thy name's Beamfort
isnoit?"

t t t t

FUBTHEB DEBOGATION. 193

" No-we," I said, "my name's Taylior, but Samhul's up-
stairs ; I con coe on him deawn, as yo want'n him."

Meanwhile I had been getting my feet into my shoes, my
hat being beyond my reach, and now standing at the bottom
of the stairs, I shouted lustily, ''Samhul! come deawn,
theaw'rt wanted directly. Dusto yer, Samhul? come deawn."
** Yod'n better step in an' sit yo' deawn ; " I said to the con-
stable, *' Samhul will be heer in a minnit."

The cunning old fox, however, would neither come in nor
sit down, so I loitered about, as it were, in the dark, humming
a snatch of a tune, and shuffling to and fro, betwixt the house
and the kitchen.

I could hear that some of the family were stirring upstairs —
in fact, my very unaccountable summons had awakened them
all.

'' He'll be heer directly," I said ; " he's comin' : " and with
that I shot the bolt of the back door, flung it open, and darted
down the street, never stopping to look at another man who
made a grasp at me, and the wind of whose fist, as I sprung
past him, I felt on my ear.

Dovni the street I went, and this new foe at my heels. He
was one of the best *' sprint-runners" in Middleton, but he
might as well have run after a hart-royal. I leaped the fence
in the lane, crossed the broad meadow, and was safe in
Middleton Wood by the time the disappointed official got
back, puffing and blowing, to the bottom of my uncle's stairs.
For it would seem the constables were not quite certain
whether or not the deUnquent had escaped. By that time my
uncle was coming down, as was his wont, part dressed, when
the officers eagerly inquired where Samhul was.

''Marry," he said (a common exclamation), "I reckon he
went eawt at th' back dur, an' I conno tell where he is neaw."
Wur that really him, then? " asked the constables.

" Well, I believe it wur," said my uncle, laughing till his
sides shook as the two worthies hurried into the street.

By that time, however, I was walking leisurely towards
Prestwich, where I arrived at breakfast-time, just as Mary
Wilde and her father were sitting down to their porridge.

VOL. I. 13

194 E ABLY DAYS.

They were very glad to see me, though surprised that I came
without hat. I, however, explained my circumstances as
briefly as possible on account of Mary. I got a breakfast with
them, good enough for a king ; and the kind girl cleaned my
shoes, and washed my stockings, which were covered with
mud. She also borrowed me a hat, and after dinner, being
again in travelling trim, I went to my father at Manchester,
who, after a sound rating, made all things right with the
overseers, and I returned to Middleton.

CHAPTEE XXIII. ,\, ■

A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE.

But I had become strangely unsettled, and it was time that a
change of some sort should take place. I again left Middleton,
and seeing bills up at Manchester that a number of young men
were wanted for the coasting trade betwixt South Shields and
London, I engaged with a person appointed to make contracts,
and after parting from my father, who went down on his knees
and prayed earnestly that God would recall me from sin, I
went through Middleton, bade adieu to Mima, who was heart-
broken ; and mounting a coach at Oldham, I, with seven
others — volunteers like myself — reached York that night, and
stopped there. The morning following our conductor led us
through that wonderful structure the Minster, after which we
mounted coach again, and finished our second day's journey
at a large inn at Sunderland, where we again stopped all
night.

My companions were chiefly lads from factories and dye-
houses : a rude and simple set they were, and, I believe, pretty
honest also. I know not how it happened, but certainly the
people of the house seemed to feel an interest in my welfare.
They knew for what service we were destined, and I received
more than one hint that I should repent of the step I was
taking. The cook and the bustling old waiter both seemed to
think that I was cut out for something else than a sailor, and
they dropped privately certain ominous intimations about
hardships, and dangers, and impressments. At last I was
given to understand that if I would remain at the inn, and
make myself useful in whatever I could do, my conductor

195

196 EARLY DAYS. ,

should be satisfied, and I should be well treated, and be
protected from the press-gang ; but thanking the motherly-
looking hostess for her kind offer, I declined it, and went
forward with my party to South Shields.

Here we were quartered at a publichouse by the quay side,'
and at night slept on board a brig which lay alongside, my
bed being made of sails spread on the floor of the half deck,
with a coil of rope for my pillow. In the course of a few days
we signed indentures to serve Nicholas Fairies, Esquire,
during three years, in return for which we were to have £20
per annum, ship allowance, and protection from impressment,
every man receiving at the time a document from the Admiralty
which was to be his protection. Our ship was the hngu^neas,
Matthew Peacock, master; and after having received our outfit
of clothes and sea stock of groceries and other articles, we took
on board a cargo of coal, and heaving our anchor, we sailed
with the night tide, and were soon out of the harbour. Five
of our Manchester party, with some old hands, formed the
crew of this vessel ; and after the anchor was secured, the
spars lashed, and the sails set, the watch was called over, and
I, being on the captain's watch, went below with the rest ;
the mate, William Peacock, the captain's son, a fine young
seaman, remaining on deck with his portion of the crew. And
thus was I, at last, a sailor on the North Sea.

From what appeared to me to have been a very short sleep,'
I was aroused by three thundering knocks and a hoarse shout
down the hatchway, " Starboard watch, ahoy." I was on
deck immediately, indeed I had not undressed, but had slept
on my old bed of sail and rope. Our captain was standing
near the companion, and after rubbing my eyes I saw the
shore with its green hills and homesteads on our starboard,
or right hand, whilst the open ocean lay glistening and
heaving beneath the new light of the morning on our left. I
was not long, however, in discerning that several ships seemed
to be crossing towards the course we were steering, and from
a sense of duty, pointing them out to the captain, I asked him
whether they were not French ? Though he was not much
given to pleasantry, he pretended to be of opinion that they

A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE, 197

possibly might be " Frenchmen," and asked what I thought
should be done in case they were? "Well," I said very
simply, "I reckon we shan hato feyght 'em then." ** I
• suppose we shall in that case," he said. " An' so. Captain,"
I continued, '' hadno we better be gettin' th' cannons ready,"
alluding to two carronades on the quarter-deck, and two stern
chasers. This answer so diverted him that he gave a hearty
- laugh, and afterwards I was rather a favourite with him.

When we were off Eobin Hood's Bay, one of the stern guns

was fired, and in a short time a fishing cobble came alongside,

and the captain went ashore. His family lived there, and as

it was probable we should go from London to Montreal for

timber, he wished to bid them good-bye. In a short time he

returned, bringing his wife with him ; a clever, good-looking

woman she was. She took leave of her son, and the captain

saw her back on shore, and then coming on board, we set sail

and again made for the open sea. We had scarcely got from

under the rocks of the bay, when the wind began to blow

against us, and we had a threatening sun-down, and a terrible

'night — at least, so it appeared to me, I was awoke at one

time by three thundering knocks as before, followed by the

^Klj- summons — **A11 hands, ahoy," and on getting on deck the first

i' ' circumstance that took my attention was that waves, having

the appearance of streams of fire, were breaking over the bows

\ \ of the vessel and sweeping the deck. In a moment I was up

to the knees, and I actually jumped, thinking I should be

, -^ « burned, but I soon found out my mistake. The scene on deck

'f't' was such as made us young seamen feel very grave. There

. y was the vessel, climbing, as it were, up the huge billows, and

next plunging headlong as if she were going to the bottom at

once. Then the horrid tempest of waves uprushing, and of

■ ' winds down-sweeping, filled space with their terrible howl.

The hoary old deep moaned as it were rent into chasms, or

: ' sobbed as it closed weltering and rose into precipices. Then

would be a momentary lull, and presently the tremendous

t ,' strife would be renewed, as the heavens would at last rend

I ^ i ^ the deep from its bottom, and the deep would bury the heavens

i in its abyss. Nothing else was heard saye the thousand frightful

) : y

/;

198 EABLY DAYS.

tones of the wind amongst the rigging — tones more appalling,
if possible, than the roar of the giant storm. When the
captain's voice was at last distinguished, he was giving rapid
orders to the men to secure the sails and haul taut the ropes.
We young ones were not sent aloft, and we were but of little
use on the deck, except in helping the seamen to pull such
ropes as were pointed out to us. All that night the storm
continued, the waves continually breaking over us, and all
hands constantly on deck. We then began to compare our
present situation with those we had left, and most of us would
have made any sacrifice, short of life, to have regained our
humble homes on shore. For my part, when daylight came,
and I beheld Whitby Abbey, and next Scarborough Castle,
rock-grafted on their stubborn heights, and steadfastly secure
amid the drifting clouds, I should have deemed myself fortu-
nate had I been cast even naked amid their dark and frowning
ruins. I thought of my father and his earnest prayer — I
thought of dear Mima, and was not left without hope. One
consolatory reflection opportunely occurred, and that was —
that I stood as good a chance of outliving the storm as did my
shipmates — and that whilst there was a chance it was of no
use to despair. And so, as the saying is, " setting a hard
heart agen hard wark," I did my best towards bearing a hand
wherever I could be of use. This our second day was almost
as stormy as the night had been, and bitter cold. The shrouds
were coated with ice, and the hands of us landsmen were blue
and benumbed, notwithstanding which, when the men had to
go aloft to handle the sails, I and a Welsh lad mounted with
them, but the men sent us down, saying we could not be of
any use, and if we went on the yard we should only go over-
board. So we came on deck, and worked as well as we could
there ; but our willingness to share danger and hardship with
the old seamen got us more favourably looked upon. The
storm continued all this day and all night again. The captain
began to serve out grog, the seamen muttered to each other,
and exchanged cheerless glances. The pumps were set to
work, as the vessel was said to have too much water ; and we
landsmen were useful at this labour, in doing which we also

■f'.. « .

A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE, 199

kept ourselves warm. On the third morning the wind began
to lull ; it also changed to the north, and after a pleasant run,
we anchored in Yarmouth Eoads.

The storm had done much damage all along the coast, and
in sailing betwixt Yarmouth and Lowestoft, we counted no
' fewer than nineteen vessels, of various descriptions, which had
been driven on shore. We now went smartly before the wind,
and soon had the Essex coast on our right, and the Kentish
one on our left, entering the mouth of the Thames. And now,
after getting a little inland, such a paradise opened before us
as I had never previously imagined could exist in England.
Splendid villas amid groves, fairy-looking little bowers, sweet
nestling places for happy families, peeping behind verdant
shrubberies, or glimmering all white in shadowy vistas ; the
gently waving foliage was of a living, new-made green, whilst
the shorn sward that came sloping to the water's edge was of
an emerald brilliancy, and hung lipping the waves as if it
would suck them for ever. ^'

On the first Sunday after our arrival, we apprentices were
indulged with a walk on shore. Being provided with Admiralty
protections, and instructed how to act if we were molested by
the press-gang, we first made our way tb St. Paul's, where we
stood beneath the wondrous dome, twice the height of our
top-gallant mast, and with almost awful surprise, expressed
our doubts of the strange things we heard about the whispering
gallery ; for we did not go up, the state of our finances would
not allow that. Next we went to Tower Hill, and viewed the
moat, and walls, and battlements of the tough old fortress, our
finances, as before, preventing us from going inside. West-
minster Abbey was the object which next attracted us, and
here we stayed viewing the monuments, many of which were
in commemoration of authors by whose works I had been
delighted. Ah ! and did I not stand, with long-looking and
tear- wet eyes, before the tablets of my old Homeric Pope, and
my divine Milton, my companions asking at last why the
sleeve of my jacket was put so often in requisition, and I
replying by telling them what wondrous books these two had
written, a reason which soon satisfied my comrades, who, the

200 EARLY DAYS. . , , V

Welsh lad excepted, neither knew nor cared anything about
books. So having wandered about the city till we were tired,
we got some refreshment at a publichouse, and then returned
to our ship.

In due time our cargo was discharged, and we took in
ballast, after which we weighed our anchor, and dropped down
the river, and instead of taking our course for Montreal, as we
had at one time expected we should, we steered back the same
way as we had come, and, after a short and pleasant trip, again
entered the Tyne and anchored at South Shields, where we
again took in coal, and again returned to London.

The name of our vessel, as before mentioned, being the
JEneas, I took an opportunity one day of leading our mate
into a conversation on the subject, when he narrated the old
tale of ^neas carrying his father on his shoulders out of the
ruins of burning Troy, and said there was a book in the cabin
which told all about it. Was there, I said, what was the
name of the book ? The name of the book, he said, was the
^neid. Ah ! that was a famous book ; once I had read it,
and would now like to read it again. As for that, he said, he
could not make me a promise, but sometime when his father
was ashore, he would let me see the book. So accordingly
one day, after we had put his father ashore, he beckoned me
into the cabin, and there, lying on a table in a kind of state, as
a family Bible does at the head of a cottage, he showed me a
handsome, old-fashioned looking folio volume, which indeed /
I found to be the ^neid in English, with notes. I would ,'
have sacrificed anything almost for an opportunity to examine
the interesting volume, but the mate seemed to think he had
indulged me enough, and so I thanked him, and with- ■
drew.

I was always the first of our party to go aloft, and I could
soon mount to the top- gallant mast without going through
"the lubber hole." I also became expert at furling and
reefing, working with the other hands at whatever had to be
done aloft. At handling the braces I was also pretty clever,
and at the windlass, the capstan, or the pump, I was as
good as any on board. I was also the bow oarsman of the

■f^

A LONG JOVBNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 201

jolly-boat, and generally attended the captain when he went
on shore.

The perils attending a sailor's life are no doubt many, but
those which have to be encountered on this coast are pro-
bably far greater than are presented on any other coast of our
island. The perils, however, are almost as nothing when
compared with the hardships which young sailors in this
trade have to endure. Hence, mere danger is not so much
thought of by them, and anything which interrupts the wear
and tear which they daily undergo is felt to be a relief rather
than a misfortune, and is accepted accordingly. Thus it is that
our unconquerable sailors are made, and such is the rude and
ruthless school in which they are nurtured and brought up.
With them, a battle or a storm is little more than a divertise-
ment, the increased labour for the occasion being forgotten in
the excitement of action. The hardest workers will always
be the hardest and best fighters ; — hardest because assured
and persevering, and best because, whatever situation they are
placed in, mind is ever present directing to the best effect.
None, save a working nation can, therefore, ever conquer
England. And where are such workers as ours to be found ?
Let us then cherish our workers. Let them be anxiously
cared for, they are the strength and the defence of the country,
and of everything within it which is worth defending. Let
them never have less than plenty of all comfortable requisites,
whatever other class is stinted. Let them be accepted with
respect, so long as that respect is merited. They are all
fellow-men ; the honest hard-handed ones are the noblest of
men in God's High Court, and that is high enough for any
ambition ; and, take ours for all in all, with their faults and
depreciations, the wide world has not, in this our day, such
another race as that which guards the shores, and labours on
the fields and in the manufactories of Old England.

In one of our voyages, or rather trips, as we used to call
them, we passed through a fleet of ships of war, which lay at
anchor in Yarmouth Eoads. We expected being overhauled for
hands, but were not, and we sailed forward without stopping.
The sight of those huge floating masses, instead of inspiring

..i~

I. ■

i"i ■

202 EARLY DAYS.

me with chivalrous feelings, called forth those of a quite
different description. I looked upon them as so many prisons
where men were hopelessly confined, and punished according
to the caprice of unreasonable and irresponsible taskmasters.
The bit of smart discipline which we now and then had on
board our own little craft gave me an idea of what these great
fire-belching concerns must be. Our old sailors also had given
us a few lessons respecting the manner in which order was
maintained in those communities, and as I eyed them unseen —
for our captain ordered us not to show ourselves — I almost
shuddered at the idea of becoming one of their crew. The
fleet, as a whole, was certainly a noble spectacle to behold. A
demonstration of that sublimely audacious spirit by which
Britain proclaimed to the world, ''I reign ! " and the world
submitted. But its details I could not contemplate without
a shudder, and I secretly wished that I was beyond the chance
of having some day a closer acquaintanceship forced upon me.
'On our return trip the fleet was still there, but considerably
augmented by transport ships having troops on board. A large
number of coasting vessels were now returning to the north,
and as they approached the fleet nearly every vessel was
brought to and boarded, the best of the hands being trans-
ferred to the ships of war. From the vessel which immediately
proceeded ours several hands were pressed, but it so happened
that when ours came to pass, both the guard boats were full,
and were taking their prizes to the ship appointed to receive
them, whilst in the hurry of the moment we got clear through,
and so escaped that very unpleasant visitation.

I had now perhaps made some half-dozen trips betwixt
Shields and London, and having seen enough of a sailor's life
to banish the romantic notions with which the popular songs
of the day had invested it, wishful also to enjoy once more the
sweets of liberty whilst yet its attainment was possible, I
secretly determined on leaving the ship whenever an oppor- .
tunity occurred for my doing so. On our next arrival at
London, therefore, with a view to disguise my intention, and
render my flight doubtful, a day or two before we were to pro-
ceed to sea again, I laid in a good stock of groceries, and what-

A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE, 203

ever other matters it was our custom to procure. I washed my
linen, mended my clothes, and placed everything in excellent
order in my berth, so that when the captain and my ship-
mates went to examine it, as I calculated they would when
I became absent, they might find a complete preparation for
my going to sea with the vessel, and in consequence be im-
pressed with the idea that I was not a voluntary absentee, but
that I must have been crimped into some of the sponging-
houses, and smuggled on board a king's ship. This, I sup-
posed, would cause an advertisement to be immediately put
out, or a hue and cry to be issued after me, and inasmuch as
the most probable course which the captain would take would
be to make a day or two's inquiry in such places where he
would suppose I was most likely to be found, I should thus, at
any rate, have a decent start of my pursuers, if, indeed, after
such a loss of time, they should deem it worth their trouble
to follow at all. My plans being thus arranged, I one evening
ask;ed permission to go ashore for the purchase of one or two
articles which I still wanted. The permission was readily
granted, and the boat landed me opposite to Bell- wharf pier.
I immediately proceeded to Eatcliffe Highway, and after pur-
chasing a pair of stockings — my own having been left on
board as a blind with my other things — I entered an eating-
house, and there spent some time till dusk was pretty well set
in. I thence went into the city, to St. Paul's, inquiring my
way into Aldersgate Street, and when there I ventured to
accost a respectable-looking person and requested him to be so
kind as to direct me towards Islington, which, of course, he
did, and I passed through that suburb without stopping or being
questioned. An officer, in naval uniform, whom I met, cer-
tainly took more notice of me than was quite to my liking, but
he passed on and did not speak. I next inquired the way to
Highgate, knowing that if I got there I should be on the direct
great northern road, and at Highgate, whilst stopping at
a publichouse, I ascertained that the next place on my route
would be Whetstone, and the next after that Barnet. I ac-
cordingly walked through Whetstone and through Barnet
without stopping. I now considered myself fairly launched on

204 ^ EARLY DAYS.

my journey. I had been fortunate in getting clear of the
vicinity of the shipping and of the city without being ques-
tioned, and was now ten miles from St. Paul's. I once more
breathed the sweet country air ; the smell of mown meadows
sometimes came across my path. I had seven shillings in my
pocket, and though as yet uncertain of my success, I was full
of hope and delighted with the present enjoyment of freedom.
I had not gone far, however, before I became somewhat em-
barrassed, the night was getting far advanced, the country
less populous, and I was uncertain both as to the name of my
next stage and the course I should keep. I had not gone far,
however, before I met a man to whom I put the necessary
questions, and who told me to keep on the broad highway, to
the left, and that the next town of any note which I should
arrive at would be St. Albans. I thanked the man for his in-
formation, when he said, *' Stop; I know what you are, and
what you are about."

" Do you ? " said I, rather surprised, but in a good-humoured
manner.

" Indeed I do," replied the man ; " you are a sailor, and are
running away from your ship."

"You might be a wizard," I said, **for what you say is
perfect truth."

" Well, now," said he, " as you have been as candid as I was
frank, I'll tell you something which may be of use to you."
I thanked him.

*' At St. Albans," he continued, " a party of marines are
stationed, who press every sailor that appears in the town.
They even press them off the coaches, or other vehicles, if
they get a sight of them. Through St. Albans, however, you '
must go, and you will be pressed if you appear in the streets ;
you must, therefore, get through the town without being seen,
if possible. Fortunately it may be done. In a short time you
will overtake a waggon which carries goods on this main road.
You must get to ride inside of it, get stowed amongst the^
packages, and never show your face until you are clearly on
the other side of the town."

I thanked him most gratefully for his information, and

A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE. v 205

. begged that he would not mention to any one having seen
such a person as myself on the road. He desired that I would
make myself easy on that score, and so with e^tpressions of
thankfulness on my part, and of kindly wishes on his, we
separated.

It was now about midnight, all was still and silent on the
road. I was about eight miles from St. Albans, and by the
time I had shortened the distance by three I overtook the
waggon, the tail of which being full of soldiers' wives and
their children, I could not get in there ; the driver, however,
offered me a snug place in the hay-sheet — a large and strong
horse-hair cloth which fastened in front of the vehicle, and
presented a resting-place as comfortable as a hammock, and
quite large enough to conceal me. I, therefore, got into my
. hiding-place, and was almost instantly fa'st asleep. I must
have ridden about four miles, though to me it seemed but a few
minutes since I got in, when the driver awoke me and asked
which road I was going when I got through the town ?

" Why the main road, to be sure," I said.

" Yes, but which main road ? " asked the man.

** The main road down into the north ; into Lancashire," I
said. ** There is none other, is there ? "

*' Oh, yes," said the man, " there is the main road to
Bedford and those parts, and that's the road I'm a-going."

Instead of " saying, "Well, drive me to Bedford then, or
anywhere else, so you don't land me here in sight of the press-
gang; " — instead of so considering in my own mind, I might
have suddenly become demented, for I alighted from my
covert, and shaking the hay-seeds from my clothes as well as
I could, I gave the man some copper, and walked right into the
> broad street of St. Albans.

Had I been acquainted with the topography of the country,
the road to Bedford was the very road I should have taken
after being once at St. Albans. But as it happened, I was
ignorant of these things, else the main road was the one I
should have most avoided. After all, however, though the Old
One himself seemed to be leading me, it was, perhaps, for the
best. ;

206 . EABLY DAYS.

It was a very fine summer's morning, and being Saturday,
the market-place was occupied by numbers of country people
setting out their standings of butter, eggs, poultry, and vege-
tables. Directly through the midst of these market people lay
my way, and I stepped it with seeming equanimity, and as
much of real indifference as I could muster, for, after all, as I
reflected, if the very worst happened, I should only be dis-
appointed in present hope, and be sent on board a ship of war
as many hundreds had been before me. So I walked forward,
the people almost lifting their eyes in wonder at seeing a
tall, gaunt, weather-browned sailor traversing that perilous
ground.

I had got clear of the market-place, and was proceeding
down a flagged footpath leading to the outskirts of the town,
and already breathing more freely, when the sound of a light
slip-shod step approached behind me. I thought it was some
servant girl going out for her morning's milk or hot -roll, and
never turned my head, A slap on the shoulder, however, and
the salutation, '' Hollo, shipmate," caused me to face about,
when what should stand before me but a marine, in his blue
over- coat and girdled hat without feather.

At that moment I felt as little ruffled as if we had been old
acquaintance, determined, however, not to be taken if either
presence of mind or resistance could prevent it. "

'' Hollo, shipmate," said I. ,

** What are you ? " asked the man.

*' What am I ? I'm a servant," I replied, A term^ not used
in the Eoyal Navy, but by which persons under contract are
distinguished in the trade of our Eastern Coast.

*' A servant ?— what's that ? "

** Why, a servant — that's all," I replied.

By this time three other marines had joined us.

''Where's your pass, to pass you through the country?'
asked the first man.

** I have no pass," I said; *' I'm a free-born subject of this
kingdom, and can travel this or any other high-road without
carrying a pass at all."

The men looked at each other, and then at me. They could

A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE.-' 207

not comprehend the reason of my cool manner and unusual
language. They had no idea . of free-born subjects, nor of
sailors travelHng without passes.

" Then you have no papers ? " said the first man, who seemed
to be the superior of the party.

" Why, as for that," I said, ** I daresay I can show a kind
of a small matter which will, perhaps, satisfy you for the
present." Saying which, I took my protection from an old
black pocket-book which I carried in my hat.

" Oh, if you have any written papers to show," he said,
'* you must go with us to our captain, I can't read writing."

So much the better, I thought, and straightway displayed
the document at length, knowing if it could do me no good,
neither could it do me any harm. " Do you see that ? "
I asked, pointing to the broad seal of the Admiralty, stamped
with an anchor.

" Oh ! be d — d," said the man ; " you have been discharged
from a man-of-war."

** Why, you lubber," I said, in a half -familiar way, '* do you
think if I hadn't I should have come here? "

" Ah ! he won't do," said one or two of the party.

" You may go about your business," said the first man,
turning to walk off with the others.

'• Ahoy, there," I said, "are you going to stop a shipmate
on shore this way, without standing so much as a glass of grog
for him ? "

*' You be d — d," said the corporal, and hastened up the
street to join his comrades.

.•' Several decent-looking farmers, who had left their produce
in the market, stood in the cart-road watching the whole
proceeding, and when the marines had left, they said, "Well,
young fellow, you are the first blue- jacket that has slipt
through the fingers of yonder scoundrels this long time."
I entered into friendly conversation with these men, and as
they were going my way I had their company on the road
as far as Kedburn, where, after partaking with them a glass or
two of ale, we parted.

I next passed through Hemel Hempstead, Market Street,

208 ;Av:; . E ABLY DAYS.

' y .■■ ^ ■ ■ ,

/

and Dunstable, always concealing myself, as well as I could,
when I heard a coach coming either way, until it passed. At
Hockliffe I rested some time, and had a good sleep behind
a hedge. I thence went through Woburn, and afterwards
through Newport Pagnell, and when night came, and the glow-,
worms were shining in the hedges I found myself opposite
^ to a small lone publichouse, near the village of Stoke Gold-
ington, in Buckinghamshire, and about eleven miles from
Northampton.

CHAPTEE XXIV.

JOURNEY PURSUED — ADVENTURES — DIFFICULTIES — HOME.

Into this humble hostehy I entered and got some bread and
qheese and ale for supper. The house appeared to be kept by
an elderly couple, with a woman servant, and when I men-
tioned my wish to stop there for the night, they said they
could not find me a bed in the house, but if I would put
up with a good litter of straw in the stable, I should be
welcome to rest there. I accepted their kind offer with
pleasure, and lay down, thankmg God that I could rest
without the hated ''Starboard watch, ahoy" breaking my
slumbers ; and save that once or twice I was awaked by rats
^ tripping over me, and by the cackling of fowls and the quack-
ing of ducks, a king never enjoyed sounder repose. In the
morning, it being Sunday, I brushed my shoes, washed myself
-well at the pump, and turned my linen the cleaner side out,
after which I got a basin of milk and bread for breakfast, and
demanding my shot, the old folks told me I had nothing to
pay, and so with truly grateful thanks for their kindness I
bade them farewell, and continued my journey. .

It was a lovely morning, and my way lay through a tract of
country which at every bend and undulation of the road, pre-
sented some object, or group, or opening upon scenery, which
was continually suggestive of the fact, that this was indeed
a land where men and women knew how to live and be happy
at their own homes. Here, on one hand, would be a sub-
stantial farmhouse, with its open door displaying much
plenty within, its strong-limbed hinds feeding the horses
or cleaning the stables, and its ruddy-brown damsels milking

VOL. I. 14 ^

210 EABL7 DATS,

the kine, which stood sleepily lashing their tails on their backs
or flapping their ears in the sun. The next habitation would
probably be a little white cottage, with a low door, and small
leaded windows shadowed by vinery, and the eaves of the
thatch slouched down, as if to prevent the wind from up-
turning them. A whine and a grunt would be heard in the
sty, and a broad garden, darkened at one end by fruit trees,
w^ould be abundant

**0f herbs and other country messes."

Next a clear tiny rill comes trickling by the road-side ;
soon we are under a tall young wood, with an old tree here and
there matted with ivy or robed in hoar lichen. Soon we per-
ceive a house of the higher order, with its palisades, its
gravelled walk, its bright evergreens, its clean steps, and its
stately and decent quietude ; although if the white blinds were
rolled up instead of being down, it would seem all the more
frank, cheerful, and Christian like. Next, perhaps, we have a
glimpse of a spire rising above tall trees, or the turret of
a grey old-looking bell tower sends forth its summons to the
villagers for their morning's devotion. Wending on our
journey, hills and vales, with meads, pastures, and green crops
spread all over their ridges and down to their brook margins,
are laid out luxuriantly before the ever-pleased eye ; whilst far
off, ip the opening of hoary old woods, are seen tower and
battlement of some lordly hall. Such, England ! are the
objects constantly presented to the eye of travellers amid thy
rural scenes. Such are the cause and the results of thy
true greatness. First labour and its reward, from which follow
plenty, peace, reverence, obedience, order, security, opulence ;
and, as a consequence of these, encouragement to continued
exertion. Cherish, then, these elements of giant power for the
sake of their inestimable results, which are the guarantees
of untold blessings for all. Promote honest labour. Honour
it wherever or however found. Have respect to the horny hand
and the dewy forehead, and oh ! with kindliness endeavour to
attach the heart which has the courage to encounter peril,
hardship, and stringent toil day by day, without a murmur,

JOURNEY PURSUED. 211

and without a wish, save only that it may be duly rewarded.
Yes ; be justj noble Englan d, to thy sons of labour. Then, so
long as tliy rock foundations endure shalt thou be happy : the
conservator of thy own strength, the arbiter of thy own
destiny.

Through such a country as this, and breathing an air
sweeter than which none ever wafted over Paradise, had
I walked some five or six miles, when the bark of a dog, and
the appearance of sundry low tents, a horse, a mare and her
foal, an ass or two, a heap of panniers, a lurcher and a couple
of terriers, pans, pots, and a kettle on a fire, which a lad was
blowing into red heat, made me aware that I was, for the first
time, about to behold a family of gipsies, in their favourite
state of encampment. The tribe consisted of three stout men
and as many women, one of them very old and deformed, and
one, a superb being, with majestic golden pendants, that
touched the crimson hood on her shoulders ; a coil of luxuriant
hair lay across her knees, as thick as a mainshroud and as
glossy as a skein of silk, whilst her magnificently black and
darkly shadowed eyes were like two gems, light-emittent
through midnight. Two of the men and one female were
asleep in tents, some children were also at rest, a boy or two
were engaged with the dogs ; the horses and the asses were
pasturing, one man was smoking a short pipe, and skinning a
rabbit the while, the queen sat plaiting what seemed to be
a girdle of many colours, and the old one was tending a cake
in the embers. A young damsel sat there — a beauty sUch as I
had never before beheld, not even in Lancashire, for she was
different from them all, though not surpassing — nothing human
could do that — but this had a feminine grace, and a faultless
beauty of a type which was entirely new to me. A scarlet
strap and a short sleeve were the only covering to her
shoulders, her neck and arms being entirely bare. Over the
front of a laced bodice of various hues, hung a small bib of
fine linen, which so far covered her bosom as modesty required.
A green kirtle bound her waist and fell below her knees,
leaving her legs and feet, which were models of symmetry, as
innocent of hose or pumps as they were at her birth. Her

212 ' EARLY DAYS.

complexion was a clear olive, whilst her features I can only
describe as being strikingly impressive from their beauty, and
much like those which I had seen in the portraits and on the
statues of Oriental nymphs and goddesses of antiquity. Her
hair, of raven lustre, was plaited and wreathed on her head,
where it was bound with ribbons of bright and grave colours
mingled, and held by a comb, and thence dividing, fell in
graceful locks over her shoulders, and below her bosom. She
was on her knees, sipping broth from a china basin, and with a
silver spoon. I accosted the party with the usual salutation
of "good morning," to which the man and the two women
replied. We chatted as I stood there respecting various
matters, as the road, the weather, fellow wayfarers whom I
had met, and things of that kind, and in the course of our
conversation the man informed me that my best way to
Leicester would be through Welford, and not through Market
Harborough, which was the more common route. After
satisfying my curiosity as well as I could consistently with a
decent observation, I bade them good-bye, and was coming
away when the mistress of the party, or queen, as I may call
her, asked me if a mess of broth would be acceptable. I
had been thinking before that never had broth smelled so
temptingly as this did ; I therefore expressed my thankful
acceptance of her offer, and taking a seat on the sod I partook
of a breakfast such as I had little expected to find at such
a table, for besides the broth, the young nymph, by direction
of the queen, placed before me bread, cold mutton, fowl,
cheese, with mustard, and green onion as a relish, so I laid
to as freely and as plenteously, according to my wants, as ever
did alderman at a corporation feast. My kind entertainers
seemed the- more pleased the more freely I partook, and after
making a most excellent meal, during which I was neither
annoyed by many questions, nor embarrassed by ceremony —
for they mostly spoke to each other, and that in a language I
did not understand — I again expressed my sincere thanks and
pursued my journey, deeply interested by the scene I had
quitted, an4 particularly so by the two amazing beauties I bad
beheld,

JOURNEY PUBSUED. ^ 213

Northampton, a garrison town, was the next place through
which I had to pass, and as a recruiting party of marines was
stationed there — as my friend the gipsy had informed me,
though whether or not they had orders to press he could not
tell — I waited outside until the quiet hour when people had all
gone home from church, and had got seated at their dinners,
before I essayed the perilous experiment of walking through.
The wished-for time soon came, the bells had all ceased tolling,
and the streets were nearly deserted, when I stepped at a
leisurely calm pace, as if in no great haste to be gone, along
the clear broad causeway of that neat and cleanly town.
Everything seemed to my wish ; it was a hot day : the sun
glared on the pavement and against the windows ; the blinds
and curtains were nearly all closed ; the doors were open to let
in air, and I could hear the children laughing, the mothers
scolding, and the knives and forks clattering as the good folks
were partaking their happy meal. I envied them not, I only
wished in my heart that every soul in the place might be
compelled to eat, and never cease eating, until I had walked
clear and far away of that burning pavement and blistering
flag-road ; and in sooth I began to think it certainly would be
so, the streets were so quiet, when all at once, pondering as I
went, and with my hat pulled over my brow, I found I was
approaching a marine, who was crossing me at right angles,
I would have given the world if the fellow had only been like
the towns-folks, quietly employed with his pudding, instead of
being where he was, but I took care pot to betray any outward
sign of either alarm or dissatisfaction. He was alone, and no
other person was in sight, and if he stopped me, and my old
protection trick failed, I had' nothing to do, but either to out-run
him, or knock him down, or both, and so decide the matter.
These thoughts, however, and these resolves, which came as
quick as a throb, were no sooner present, than, to my surprise
as well as satisfaction, the man merely looked at me in an
ordinary way, and nodding, said, " Good voyage, shipmate,"
to which I readily replied, ''Good quarters, shipmate," and
each passed on.

And now, as the protection which I have once or twice

214 EARLY DATS,

mentioned will not be any more alluded to, I may as well
explain, that these documents which were given to apprentices,
were no protection at all save whilst the apprentice was
on board the ship to which he belonged, or if on shore,
was engaged in the lawful service of his master. If the navy
was greatly short of hands, as in the expedition we passed in
Yarmouth Eoads, for instance, not only apprentices were seized
despite of their protections, but even carpenters and mates of
coasting vessels would sometimes be made free with. In my
case, therefore, who was absconding from my service, the
document, had it been perused, instead of being a protection
would have been a detection, inasmuch as it would have
required a degree of ingenuity beyond my command to have
shown why I, an apprentice on board a coasting vessel on the
North Sea, should be found traversing the streets of St.
Albans, or of Northampton, the king's veritable terra firma —
instead of being on his other element, the ocean.

This escapade was a great relief to my mind, since having
now passed this second garrison town I had not much fear of
being interfered with by press-gangs, though, wherever there
was a party of marines it was possible that I might be
questioned. The weather was, as I have intimated, that of a
truly English summer's day. Towards evening, when the heat
was mitigated to a joyous coolness, came a breeze that swept
odours from the wild rose and the honey-bine. Then, by the
hill-sides, or along the valleys, or up the meadow paths,
appeared young and happy couples, the lads in their clean
smock-frocks, and the lasses in their new pumps, smart caps
and ribbons, and all seemingly so full of happy, contented, and
hopeful love, that the tears dimmed my eyes as I looked
towards them. ** AJi ! " I thought, *' and will not I be walk-
ing with one as dear and as bonny as any of them before
long." And thus as I wandered forward waned that sweet
Sabbath eve, and small indeed was the amount of " cash in
my locker," wherewith to procure a lodging, but on I went,
and I must have passed some seven or eight miles beyond
Welsford, when it being nearly dark, I stopped at a good-
looking publichouse, and after paying for a glass of beer,

ADVENTUBES. 216

which took nearly the last copper I had, I asked the landlord
if there was not a snug corner in his stable or hay-loft in
which I could be allowed to rest till morning ? He said the
cattle all slept and pastured out, and he had not so much as a
lap of straw on the premises ; but if I would walk on a couple
of miles or so, I should arrive at a place called Wigston, where
the yearly feasi was being held, and if I only got amongst the
young fellows there, I would have all I wanted, and that too
for nothing. So thus discouraged in one respect, and encour-
aged in another, I again commenced my journey, and walked
a long way, the eve settling into darkness, and not a glimmer
from a house, nor the bark of a sheep-dog, nor any other
indication of inhabitants to be seen or heard. I kept on in
this way until I became quite tired, and looked in vain for
some barn, or outhouse, or cattle-shed, in which I might lay
down, but not a vestige of cattle or cattle-shed was to be
seen. Not even the tinkle of a sheep-bell could be heard in
that vast stillness. At length I thought I espied something
like swathes of grass on the other side of a low fence, and
climbing over, I found them to be what I expected. I
straightway therefore commenced making my bed, and collect-
ing a number of swathes together I lay down on part of them,
and pulled the remainder over me until I was pretty well
covered, and so, with a bunch under my head for a pillow,
and my hat for a sleeping cap, I bade good-night to one star
which hung winking above, and in a moment care was no
more. When I awoke it was broad day, and the lark was
singing overhead. I jumped up, shook off the dewy grass and
clover, and thanking God for so excellent a bed, with freedom,
I leaped over the fence, and pursued my journey.

It was now evident that unless I could hit upon some plan
whereby I could procure sustenance on the road, my travels
must soon cease. My last penny had been expended that
morning in the purchase of a cake, and I had not a single
halfpenny towards carrying me eighty-six miles. As for
having recourse to dishonest means, that never entered my
thoughts, whilst to beg I could not yet bemean myself. Some-
thing, however, must be devised, and as I wore under my

216 EARLY DAYS.

trousers a pair of stout woollen drawers, nearly new, I
concluded on selling them, if I could meet with a customer ;
and accordingly I went over the hedge into a quiet little
corner, and stripped off my drawers, tying them up in a small
pocket handkerchief which I had taken care to preserve. I
was so entirely satisfied with this proceeding, so easy with
respect to present means of subsistence, that I fell into a
profound sleep, and so continued during a considerable time.
On arriving at Leicester, I stopped at a clothes shop, at
the door of which an elderly female stood, of a very decent
appearance. I accosted her, and entering the shop, offered
her my drawers on sale. She examined them, and asked how
much I expected for them ? Well, I said, I should not be
very particular, but I thought they would be cheap at two
shillings.

" Two shillings ! " said the dame — her keen eyes fixed upon
me — *' Why, young man, I would not give two shillings for all
the clothes you have on your back."

I said I was sorry to hear her say that, but how much
would she give then,
s '' You are a sailor I suppose."

" I am, or at least have been," I replied.

" I have a son that is a sailor also," she said.

" I wish him a safe return then," I replied.

'* Aye, a safe return, with plenty of prize money,'' she
quickly added.

" Be it as you wish," I replied.

" Are you going to see your friends? " she asked.

" I'm going to stay with them I hope."

''Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," said the dame. ''I'll
just give you sixpence for the drawers, and that's what I call
dealing handsomely with you."

" Could you not give me something more, mother," I said,
trying to soften her by that tender appellation, though but
with small hope of success. .

" Not one half-farthing more shall I give, if you talk till
night," said the dame, "and if I ever get the money back
again, I shall be lucky."

^ f J } ? ? / .

ADVENTURES. 217

I still chaffered with her, trying to obtain a small advance,
but it was of no use, and considering that I might dodge
round the whole town and be no better, I resigned the
drawers.

Where's the napkin they were tied in ? " she asked.
It's here I replied," showing it.

Oh," she said, ** I must have that you know, I bid at the
whole lot."

My anger was equalled only by my disgust — the little napkin
was very dear to me — and taking up the drawers I was about
replacing them in the napkin with a view to leave the shop;
when judging as I supposed my purpose, she threw down a
sixpence, saying, " Give me the drawers : if you were my own
son I could not behave better to you."

I first secured the sixpence, and, then putting down the
drawers, said, '* God help the son who has such a mother as
you to come to," and left th^ place.

My next business was to buy a small loaf, which I soon did,
and eat it with a voracious appetite as I went on my way. I
proceeded down the street and out of the town without being
once annoyed by the appearance of either marine or recruiting
party. I passed through Montsorrel and Loughborough with-
out stopping, and took my rest and a draught of porter at
a small publichouse beyond the latter place. After this,
towards evening, I met a company of women coming from the
hayfield; they were disposed to be merry, and dancing and
singing with their forks and rakes on their shoulders, they
formed a ring around me. At length one of the youngest of
them sung a snatch of a popular song :

•' I will be sure to return back again
If I go ten thousand miles, my dear,
If I go ten thousand miles."

>r They next' produced a keg and a basket, and the kind
creatures made me sit down amidst them, and partake of their
brown bread and hard cheese, which I did heartily, and
quenched my thirst with a good draught of their home-brewed

218 EABLY DAYS.

•

ale, after which, with many thanks on my part, and kind
wishes on theirs, we separated.

If I could have made up my mind to begging, here had been
a fine opportunity for trying my talents in that line on these
kind and sisterly beings, but I could not find in my heart to
inform them how sorely I was distressed : and though I knew
that unless I either solicited relief on the road, or some unfore-
seen assistance came to hand, I must at least endure two days
of horrible starvation and fatigue, I could not humble myself
to the act of craving charity. So still cherishing a kind of
irrational and gloomy hope beyond hope — whilst my bene-
factors returned to their cheerful and welcome homes, I
advanced into the shades of evening, and the grey and solemn
stillness of a summer's night had enshrouded all around when
I arrived at the village of Shardlow.

At one little window only could I see a blinking light. I
knocked at the door, and it was opened ; an old couple who
were preparing to retire to rest seemed somewhat alarmed at
my entrance, so I hastened to make known to them that I was
a stranger on the road, and would thank them to direct me
either to a hayrick or a cattle-shed, where I could find sheltqr
for the night. They commiserated the hardship of my lot in
being necessitated to ask such a question, and directed me to
a stable connected with a publichouse a little farther on the
way, the residents of which would probably be gone to bed. I
thanked the old folks, and without much trouble found out the
house and the stable alluded to. All was dark and silent
around; the stable was quite unoccupied, and not a straw,
nor a lock of hay could I find within the place. I tried to
make the manger my sleeping berth — not without a grateful
remembrance of the one at Bethlehem — ^but I could not fit my
shoulders to the trough, and sleep being denied me there, I lay
down on the bare pavement below, thinking, carnal though I
was, that if the manger once served as a bed for a heavenly
Lord, the stones beneath one might even suffice for a wander-
ing sinner like me ; and so I stretched my wearied limbs on
the floor and fell asleep. In the morning I rose as refreshed
as if my bed had been one of down, and leaving my sleeping

DIFFICULTIES. 21

apartment in as tidy a condition as I found it, I quietly shu
the door after me, and continued my journey. I spent m
last penny in the purchase of a cake as I entered Derby, an
as penny cakes were rather small concerns in those days, min
was quickly devoured.

I passed through the town without stopping, and soon foun
myself once more amid the beautiful scenery of which ou
island is so rife. After walking a mile or two I overtook
little crabbed-looking middle-aged man, who, notwithstandin
that he limped on one foot, and travelled with a stick, got ove
the ground rather cleverly. I soon found out that he was
stay and corset-maker by trade, was a great professor c
religion, and was going to Manchester, as he said, to pick u
a penny in the way of business, and " to speak a word to th
heathen," when opportunity offered. And now, I thought t
myself, if this man has only money enough about him to carr
us both to Manchester, and will undertake to provide for m
on the way, I shall look upon him as one sent by Divine provi
dence. I was not long in ascertaining that he had the mean
to assist me, and then, in return for his communication, I gav
him a short history of my adventures, without letting hir
know the whole truth, and concluded by a proposal that as w
were both journeying to one town, we should keep company
and that he should furnish the means for my very frugal sut
sistence till we arrived there, when I would introduce him t
my friends, who would thank him for his kindness, and ampl
repay him besides. The prospect of turning a good penny o:
the road appeared, from the manner in which I stated the case
so plain and certain, that the little man assented to the pre
,posal, and we jogged on to Ashborne, where he paid for
basin of milk, and a pennyworth of bread for each, and thi
was our breakfast. Soon after leaving Ashborne, we fell int
company with a private of light dragoons, going home on fm
lough. At first his presence was not very agreeable to me
but I soon had reason to conclude that he had not, for th
present at least, any designs of entrapping me, so we thre
journeyed together. We now began to mount the hills ove
which we had to pass to Buxton, and a long, dreary twenty/

220 ^ EARLY DAYS.

four miles the journey would be; as I was given to understand/
The day was very hot, and I required refreshment in order to
enable me to support the heat and fatigue, but I found my
commissary was not going to be at all prodigal of supplies. In
walking about ten miles he paid for one gill of sorry treacle
beer only, and shortly afterwards, finding I could not keep
pace with my comrades, I sat down on a knoll by the road-
side, and they went forward, disappearing over the long moors.
After some time, having got a draught of blessed water at a
little rill, I made an essay to proceed, and had not gone far ere
I arrived at a large inn and posting-house called New Haven.
A haven it was indeed to me. I asked one of the stable men
for permission to He down on the hay-baulks, which he civilly
granted, and there I remained sleep-bound until far in the
afternoon. On awaking I set forward again, quite refreshed
and in good spirits, and was the more anxious to get to Buxton
since I should then be only twenty-two miles from home, a
distance which I thought I should be able to walk with the
refreshment of water only, should chance not throw in my way
a particle of solid food. Encouraged thus by the consciousness
of being almost on the verge of my native county, and of being
now traversing the tops of some of those hills which I had
so often contemplated from our play-ground at Middleton, I
stepped forward with a light heart, over a country of waste
and cheerless moors, and of rolling, billowy hills. Though
greatly fatigued, as much probably from the heat of the three
last days as from the want of food, I continued, with many
cheering anticipations, to urge my feeble steps in the direction
of my hoped-for resting-place for the night, though God only
knew what sort of a resting-place that was to be. Another
opportunity now' occurred for my asking charity, and I made
up my mind to do it. It was a secluded place in the bottom
of a valley. I was descending one side, and a gentleman,
mounted and walking his horse at a quiet pace, was coming
down the other. We met nearly at the bottom, and I looked
at him and lifted my hat, but when my hand should have been
extended, and the words of supplication should have passed
my lips, I could not do either the one or the other, and the

DIFFICULTIES. 221

gentleman, merely nodding in return to my civility, passed
on.

Shortly after this I began to feel sickly ; my head became
confused, and I sat down merely as I thought to rest and take
breath, but I probably fainted, since when consciousness re-
turned night had completely set in. I however got up as well
as I could, and again put my now stiffened limbs in motion,
and had not proceeded more than a mile ere I became aware
that I was approaching numerous habitations, and pressing
forward I was soon at the entrance into the Village of Buxton.

My first endeavour was to discover, if I could, a stable or
outhouse of some sort, in which I could take up my lodgings
— the last of the sort which I should want on my present
journey. I had not hovered about the street long ere I espied
a ladder reared against what appeared to be a hay-loftj so
I crept up as daintily as if I had been mounting to a curtained
bed of down, and found to my great joy that I was on a boarded
floor, well stored with hay. Here, then, was my bed at once,
and now all my troubles were over. I was groping about for
a place to make my bed, when, as sudden as a flash, I fell
through the floor, and found myself lying on my back in a
lower place. I was rather confused at first, and scarcely con-
scious of what had happened, but was soon made aware that
something was vastly wrong by screams of murder, with occa-
sional prayers and imprecations. Presently a door opened,
and several men entered the place with lights, when I found
that I was lying in the stall of a stable, with my legs across
the body of a female, who continued making a great noise, and
whose dress was not in the most decorous condition. Though
shaken by the fall and still confused, I immediately got upon
my feet, when one of the men, holding a Ian thorn to my face,
demanded to know why I brought Iny strumpet into his stable.
In vain I protested that I knew nothing whatever of the woman.
He insisted that I did, and that probably I should have laid
hands on other game also if I had found anything worth
carrying aw^ay. To this insinuation I had no reply save a
repetition of the assertion that I was innocent, and I added
rthat I only became aware that any living being was in th§

222 EABLY DAYS.

place by the accident of failling through the hole in the floor
above, which I pointed out, and also stated my motive for
going there. By this time the woman had risen from the
straw, and was busy arranging her dress.

" Why," said one of the men, *' is not that the girl that has
been in company with the limping fallow and the soldier all
night?"

*' The very same," said another.

'* Oh ! I see how it is," rejoined a third — " where is theold,
fox concealed? he has not been in the tap-room since this
woman left it."

** He's somewhere in the place," said one of the men.

'' He'll be found not far off," said another.

Instantly they began to search, when a slight noise in the
next stall led them to look that way, and they discovered a
pair of legs sticking out from under some straw.

Straight that hunting note which is raised on the taking of
a fox was shouted by half-a-dozen voices, and seizing the legs,
they pulled out my little lame friend, the stay and corset-
maker, with whom I joined company that morning,

" Here he is, sure enough," said one of the men, when they
had done shouting.

** The old dog bagged alive," said another.

'' Well, how has this come about? " asked the owner of the
place. ** What account can you give of yourselves ? " he con-
tinued.

Here a scene and a dialogue ensued, which, however divert-
ing it might be to those present, I will take the liberty to omit
from my narrative. Sufi&ce it to say, that the landlord cleared
the place, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, the
whole of the party, the woman excepted, entering the public-
house to which the stable was attached, and from whence the
greater part of them had issued on hearing the noise. Here
several persons were drinking, smoking, and singing in a kind
of kitchen or family room, and amongst them, drunk and nearly
asleep, was my other fellow traveller of the morning, the young
dragoon. The stay-maker was now sadly bantered on account
of his adventure, and at last, in order to make his peace with

the landlord and the company, he paid for a quart of hot ale
and gin, of which I took one or two small glasses, though I .
would much rather have had something to eat.

After I had sat in this company a considerable time, weary
and longing for repose, I espied an opportunity to slip out of
the place, and again mounting the ladder to the hay-loft, I
made sure of not falling through that time. Quickly was I
oblivious of all care, and did not awaken until the morning
was far advanced. On descending from my bed I inquired
about the soldier and the stay-maker, and being informed that
they had started three hours before, I turned my steps through
the village and followed them.

Wearily, and rather faintly, though with a good heart, I
mounted the hills which enclose Buxton on the Lancashire
side, and then, with greater ease, I began to descend the long
road down to Whaley Bridge, my only refreshment being now
and then a draught of water from the small mountain rills
which trickled through their rock channels on the moors.
After passing "Whaley Bridge I began to ascend, slowly
enough, the steep old road to Disley. The day was again
very hot, and when I had mounted this hard path of the olden
time to a considerable distance, I rested on a stone wall oppo-
site some cottages, at the door of one of which I soon espied
an old woman winding bobbins. I asked her for a draught of
water, when she immediately rose to oblige me, and brought
forth a basin of delicious butfcer-milk. I thanked her most
gratefully, and as I stood leaning against the doorpost, much
fatigued, she asked if I could eat some oaten cake, and on my
saying I could with pleasure, she invited me to come in and
sit down, and speedily presented me with half of a good sub-
stantial cake, baked thick and without being riddled. I
quickly dispatched the cake, when the old woman — a fine-
looking old mother she was — casting on me a glance of
womanly feeling said, " Bless me, lad — for thou art somebody's
lad, I dare say — thou hast been famished, almost dying of
hunger, I'm sure ; couldst thou eat another piece of cake ? "
I said I could, and informed her that this was the first food I
bad tasted since I left Ashborne the morning previous. She

224 EABLY DAYS.

accordingly gave me the other half of the cake, part of which I*
ate, and the remainder, with some cheese, she made me put
in my pocket as a snack on the road.

Blessings on the memory of that kind old woman ! I
thought she was much like what I remembered of my own
mother, only more aged. I stole many a look at her as she
moved about the house. Blessings be ever with her memory !

After leaving this cottage, refreshed and somewhat rested, I
was soon at Disley, and from thence I passed through Bullock
Smithy '■' and Stockport to Manchester, where I arrived at
dusk, and took up my quarters at the house of a friend untiL\
night had set in, when I visited my father and other relations,'
and was received by them with a joyful welcome. I thought
it rather strange, however, that they expressed not any sur-
prise at my return, and on further conversation I learned that
my kind friend, the little staymaker, had visited them the
same day, and had prepared them for my coming. He had
made them quite easy respecting my condition, having told
them that he had advanced me money sufficient to carry me
home comfortably, and that I was coming on at my leisure.
The rascal was consequently very well received by them, and
went away trebly repaid for what he said he had advanced to
me. My father, however, though he abhorred the fraud and
the deception, said, " Never mind the money, ' My son was
dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found.' "

And now, if we would derive a benefit beyond the mere
amusement which the perusal of this book may afford, we
should here pause and survey that career of life which I had
lately been pursuing, and then note down the events which
followed from it. The dangers, the hardships which I had
undergone, and many of them I have not set down, not liking
to amplify on such matters, were only the natural results of a
course of parental disobedience, and a disregard of conscien-
tious warnings, which, like good angels, would have turned me
from the path of error — of sin — but I would not.

From such a course what could be expected save a retalia-
tion of evil for the evil I had committed ; for as surely as night

* Now Hfi-^el Grove,'

HUME, 225

succeeds day, as certainly as death comes after life, so inevit-
ably does good beget good, and sin produce misery. Let the
reader then, the youthful one especially, who seeks to benefit
by the reading of this book, note what, in my case, followed a
vicious irregularity of living ; and then, if he would escape
providential chastisement, let him, with a steady determina-
tion, eschew evil, on the track of which chastisement quickly
follows, and is never turned aside.

' «

VOL. I.

15

CHAPTEK XXV.

WAREHOUSE WORK AGAIN — READINGS — CATHERINE.

Having now had enough of an unsettled Hfe, at least for the
present, I endeavoured to obtain constant employment, and a
regular situation, in a warehouse, and shortly I got an engage-
ment in that of Messrs. Hole, Wilkinson, and Gartside, an
eminent printing concern, whose works were at Cross Hall,
near Chorley, and whose sale warehouse was in Peel Street,
Manchester. Here my business was to unlock the warehouse
at morning, to kindle a fire in the counting-house during
winter, to sweep the floor, to dust down the desks and tables,
and generally to make the place tidy and comfortable against
the arrival of the book-keepers and my employers. My next
morning's job was to sweep the floors of the sale-rooms, to
dust the counters, benches, and shelves, to lay all the prints
straight, and place them in regular piles according to their
several sorts. My own place, the packing-room on the upper
floor, was next to be swept and made ready for work ; and the
like having been done to a small print-room adjoining, I either
took a seat in the counting-house until reheved by the book-
keeper, or I remained at my own desk in this upper storey.
This desk was a snug concern, or at least so I deemed it. It
was furnished with writing materials, convenient drawers and
recesses ; a ruler, a penknife, a folding-up slate and pencil, and
on it were deposited a file, with notes from the sale-room of
every parcel of goods which I had to deliver or pack ; a book
in which every parcel or pack which had to go by carrier was
entered and signed for by him ; and a smaller book in which

226

- ; WAREHOUSE WORK AGAIN. - 227

were noted down, and duly signed for, every parcel of goods
which was dehvered in Manchester. Such was the routine of
my duty on three mornings in the week, and such the place of
■ retirement which was my own peculiar right when not called
to action by the requirements of my situation.

My employers were George Hole, a son of an extensive
iarmer near Newark-on-Trent, who managed the selling
department of the concern at this Manchester warehouse ;
John Wilkinson, a manufacturer, who attended to the buying
of the cloth necessary for the concern ; and Henry Gartside, a

' first-rate practical printer, who managed that branch of the
. husiness with great ability. On the mornings of Monday,

^ Wednesday, and Friday, the warehouse was opened at seven
o'clock ; and on the three market mornings of Tuesday,
Thursday, and Saturday, it was opened at six o'clock. By
half-past six a large cart, drawn by two stout horses, would be
at the door. Before seven, Mr. Hole and Mr. M., the sales-
man, would have arrived, and would probably find from a
dozen to a score of country drapers chatting and walking about
in the counting-house, the lobby, and the sale-room. Exactly
at seven o'clock the sheets were thrown off the cart, and the
deUvery commenced. Mr. M. counted the pieces by twenties,

. and placing them on my shoulder I carried them upstairs, and
threw them down on a clean white cloth, which was spread on
the floor of the sale-room. A scramble then commenced
^amongst the buyers which should get the most pieces ; some-

"^ times they met me at the sale-room door and tore them off my
back ; and many a good coat have I seen slit up, or left with
the laps dangling, after a struggle of that sort. The pieces
having all been delivered in this manner, the old carter drove
off to put his horses up, whilst Mr. M. hastened to assist in
the sale-room, and I, from a wish to be as useful as I could to
my employers, also attended, handing pieces to the customers,
and now and then taking occasion respectfully to point out a
piece which was a better one than common. For having
, naturally a taste for objects of a beautiful or striking descrip-

- tion, I soon acquired a tolerably correct judgment of prints
al^o ; and though I made not any parade of my talent, I had

f r , .■■M

*

228 EABLY DAYS, '

not been accustomed to prints long ere I could form a rather
sure guess whether or not a style of work would sell. Such
was a print delivery and a morning's sale at a Manchester
warehouse in the year 1808.

The pieces which had been selected were left doubled up,
piled in lots, and ticketed with the name of the buyer. Mr.
Hole and Mr. M. would then go to breakfast, and if a buyer
who had missed the delivery came in, I showed him the prints
which were left, when he selected what he approved of, gave
his name, and I piled and ticketed them the same as the former
lots were. ^

By this time the book-keeper would have arrived, and I
went to breakfast, and on my return would be despatched to
the post-office for letters. The way-bill of articles wanted for
the works was next put into my hand, and I went round to the^
chemists, the drysalters, the block-makers, the engravers, or to
any other parties who had to supply materials to go back by
the cart, and ordered whatever was required. I next delivered
all lots of prints purchased by Manchester houses, or ordered
to be left with them for package with other goods. The cart
was next loaded for its return, and by the time that was des-
patched the old church bell would have dropped ringing one
o'clock, and the doors were then locked and we went to dinner.
At two o'clock we again opened, and I commenced my after-
noon's work by carrying up to my packing room the first lot of
prints that, having been entered in the day-book, was ready
for being sent off. That lot having been packed, or trussed,
and neatly marked — at which feat I soon became no common
hand — the other lots were successively made up in their
respective forms, and, having been entered in the carrier's
book, were duly signed for by him, and sent to their several
destinations. By this time it would probably be five or six
o'clock in the evening, and the goods which had been ordered
for that day having been all disposed of, our employers would
retire at tea-time, and at six, after I had carefully raked out
the fire, closed the shutters of the counting-house, and walked
round the rooms to see that all was right, I and the book-
keeper^f he was present — locked up the warehouse, and I

WAREHOUSE WORK AGAIN. 229

took the keys to Mr. Hole's residence in Faulkner Street, and
so terminated my employment for the day.

I have been thus particular in describing the transactions of
one market day, inasmuch as that description may suffice for
those of any other market day of the busy seasons of spring
and autumn, when new patterns and styles of prints we^e
produced in the market ; and inasmuch also as that I am
rather of opinion that morning sales, like the one I have de-
scribed, are no longer known in Manchester, nor ever will be
again.

I was well satisfied with my situation, and used my best
'endeavours to please my employers, and to promote their
nterest in every way which my humble condition permitted.
Nor were they unmindful of my exertions, and I had not been
long in their service before they voluntarily advanced my
wages from eighteen to twenty shillings a week. This was a
great encouragement to me, since it gave me to understand in
a most pleasing manner that my endeavours were appreciated.
I continued those endeavours, and in a short time my wages
were increased to a guinea a week.

As spring and autumn were our only really busy seasons, I
had occasionally, during other parts of the year, considerable
leisure, which, if I could procure a book that I considered at
all worth the reading, was spent with such book at my desk in
the little recess of the packing-room. Here, therefore, I had
opportunities for reading many books of which I had only heard
the names before, such as Bobertson's '' History of Scotland,"
Goldsmith's "History of England," Kollin's "Ancient His-
tory," Gibbon's " Decline and Fall of the Eoman Empire,"
Anacharsis's " Travels in Greece," and many other works on
travel, geography, and antiquities. I also enlarged my ac-
quaintance with English literature, read Johnson's "Lives of
the Poets," and, as a consequence, many of their productions
also. Macpherson's " Ossian," whilst it gave me a ghmpse of
our most ancient lore, interested my feelings and absorbed my
attention. I also bent my thoughts on more practical studies,
and at one time had nearly the whole of Lindley Murray's
" Grammar " stored in my memory, although I never so far

230 - EARLY DAYS,

benefited by it as to become ready at parsing. A publication
of a different description also fell in my way. Mr. Hole was '
a reader of Cobbett's Weekly Begister, and as I constantly saw
the tract lying on the desk at the beginning of the week, I at
length read it, and found within its pages far more matter for
reflection than, from its unattractive title and appearance, I
had expected to find there. The nervous and unmistakable
English of that work there was no withstanding. I thenceforth
became as constant a reader of Cobbett's writings as was my
master himself, and was soon, probably, a more ardent ad- .
mirer of his doctrines than was my employer. As I generally
attended the counting-house when the book-keeper and sales-
man were absent — unless called out by other employment — I
had many opportunities for these perusals. I seldom indeed
failed to examine whatever book I found upon the desk, and if
I happened to be left to lock up at noon, which would some-
times be the case, I would hasten to the next shop and buy a
cold lunch for dinner, thence return to the warehouse and lock
myself . in, that I might have an opportunity for examining
some book which had attracted my attention. And in this
way, during nearly all the four years which I passed in the
employ of this firm, I continued to examine or to read every
book which fell in my way, or which I could readily pro-
cure.

Such was the manner in which I was employed whilst with
Messrs. Hole, Wilkinson, and Gartside, namely, alertly busy
during two months each of spring and autumn ; occasionally
busy at other times ; and with a comparatively small amount
of warehouse labour during the remainder of the year. Our
early openings gave us a good start of the day ; everything was
understood and done promptly, and when our neighbours were
hurrying and packing to get ready for the carriers, we, having
cleared all off, would probably be closing the warehouse.
Very rarely indeed did we stay after six o'clock ; not unfre-
quently did we close at half -past five, and sometimes we shut
up at five. I then went to my lodgings, got tea, washed and
put on some better clothing, and spent the evening either in a
country walk or a stroll in the town. Those were some of the

READINGS. 23 i

t

most satisfactory days which I had experienced during a long
time. '

Not unfrequently my evening walks would extend as far as
Middleton, for the separation which ensued on my going to
sea had not in the least degree diminished my regard for the
dear object of my affection, whilst on her part it seemed only
to have increased her attachment. Again, therefore, we had
our walks through the leas of Hopwood or Middleton. Some-
times, on line Sunday afternoons, we would ramble as far as
the wood-crowned Tandles — ancient j&re-hills — and descend-
ing by their romantic footpaths into the sunny valley, and
thence through the shadowy, mysterious, old Druid-haunted
wood, returned to Middleton at the closing of another blessed
day, my heart repeating, in reference to the scene in
Northamptonshire, " Ah ! and have not I been walking,
as I thought I would, with one as dear and as bonny as the
best of them ! "

Having heard that one of my fellow apprentices on ship-
board had returned, and was living at Cheetham Hill, I took
an opportunity for going over there, in order to find him out.
At the door of a small cottage, the site of which is now
enclosed in a shrubbery, stood an old woman whom I thought
I must have seen before. I looked again, and who should she
be but the mother of my once dear Catherine ; but oh, how
altered.! aged, attenuated, and sadly humble in her apparel;
humble in the material, but still proud and particular "in its
cleanness and the formality of its adjustment. I at once
determined to speak to her, and as a pretence for so doing I
crossed over the highway, and asked her if she could inform
me 'where the person I was in search of lived ? With a quick
and inquisitive look, which I seemed not to notice, she scanned
me over, and said she did not know the person I was asking

about.

Lingering a moment till my look met hers, I said, in affected

surprise —

'* Surely I should know your features ; are not you Mrs. W.
who once lived at a farm in Crumpsall ? "

"I am," she repUed. ^. •>..;

232 EARLY DAYS.

"■ And will you permit me to ask one question, which I
assure you is not prompted by curiosity, but arises from a
sincere respect for the person I would ask about ? "

Here I heard a slight coughing within the cottage, and the
old woman leaned her arm, which was now tremulous, against
the door-frame.

" What is your question, young man? " asked she.

''I wish to know how your daughter Catherine is?" I
replied.

'* Catherine is very poorly," said the old woman ; and look- ^
ing at me again, " does Catherine know you ? " she asked.

'' She did know me once," I said, *' and I think she cannot
have quite forgotten me yet."

" I think I know now who you are," she said, with a more
satisfied manner.

** Perhaps you do; I have no objection that you should
know me," I said. "But pray, where is Catherine then, if
she is so poorly? "

*' She is here," replied the old woman.

*' Might I be allowed to speak to her ? "

** Yes," said the dame, *' there cannot be any harm in that
now. Only " — whispering in my ear — " do not speak loud,
nor say anything that may fluster her, or put her out of the
way."

"God forbid," I said, entering the cottage with a careful
step.

Catherine was seated in a low chair near the fire, a pillow
was behind her head, and her left arm rested on another,
which lay on a white table, on which also were a prayer-book,
open, another small book or two, and some fruit.

The moment I entered the room there was a brightening in
her eye, and a flushing on her cheek, but instantly, seeming to
check herself, she appeared calm, and motioned me to come
near.

The old woman placed a chair for me, on that side of the
table where her arm lay, and doffing my hat, and wiping my
forehead, and eyes also by the way, I sat down, and taking
her hand gently in mine, I said —

CATEEBINE, 233

'' Dear Catherine, I am truly grieved at seeing you so
unwell."

'* Ah, Samuel ! " she said, ** are you come at last? I did
not expect this ; I dared not hope for it."

'' Why not, dear Catherine ? ''

** I thought you were too happy elsewhere ever to think of
me."

'' Indeed, I have been very happy, and very unhappy also
but I have never ceased to love you as a sister — as a dear
friend."

"That is quite enough," she said, ''since I have now no
love to bestow, save that for my Eedeemer."

" Are you happy ? " I asked.

** I am," she replied, **very happy. I know that my time
in this world is short, and I am prepared for the change, but
I wished to see you, God permitting, and now you are come
at last, and I shall have done with things of this world."

" Dear Catherine," I said, '' I am glad that I have come
then."

She then desired me to state particularly how it happened
that I was in the company of the young woman with whom
she last saw me at Manchester ; and I thereupon narrated the
circumstances exactly as they occurred. She then said she
was satisfied, for that my account corresponded in every par-
ticular with that given by the girl herself. I asked her if she
had seen the girl, and she said she had met her one day, some
time since, on the road to Manchester. The girl was travel-
ling with wares in a basket, and she having become a customer,
led the girl into conversation, and at length asked her if she
remembered coming down the Mill Gate with a young man,
and being led by him into a cook-shop. The girl, she said, at
once acknowledged the fact, and gave the same account of the
circumstance which I had done. And now, Catherine said,
she had only to ask my forgiveness for having thought wrong-
fully, and perhaps injuriously of me.

■' I said I had nothing to forgive her for, but if she wished me
to say the words, why then I as freely forgave her as I hoped
to be forgiven. She said we had both been sufferers. That

234 EABLY DAYS.

dangerous old sibyl in whom she had placed her confidence
had misrepresented my actions, and abused her too easy belief.
But it was now all over, and she had only to implore me to
prepare for the same great change which she had shortly to
undergo. Sooner or later I should have to come to the same
state, and I should then find it a blessed thing so

" To have lived that I might dread
The grave as little as my bed."

I asked her if she was quite prepared for the change. " Oh !
quite prepared," she said, " blessed be my Eedeemer."

She leaned back, rather exhausted. Her mother motioned
me not to speak any more. Catherine gave me her hand
again. I felt the pressure of her burning fingers, and placing
them reverentially to my lips, I intimated that I would shortly
come again, and withdrew. On my second visit, with a small
present of fruit and confectionery, Catherine was too ill to
speak, but she knew me, and held out her hand. Her cheeks
kept blushing and paling, and her eyes were almost painfully
brilliant. On my third visit she was in her coffin, shrouded
and knotted with white love-ribbon, and decked with sweet
herbs and flowers. Her mother stood weeping behind the
curtain, and the attendants were downstairs, so I touched her
cold forehead and pale cheek with my lips, and placing one
Httle memorial on her bosom, I took my last look and came
away.

■I ' ' .

CHAPTEE XXVI.

EGBERT BURNS — A WEDDING — A RIOT,

At the time when I was in the employ of Messrs. Hole,
'\ Wilkinson, and Gartside, it was the custom for porters and
warehousemen, such as myself, to go round on New Year's Day
a Christmas-gifting, to the block-makers, engravers, carriers,
and others employed by the firm. On the first New Year's Day
of this my servitude, I refused to exercise this privilege, and
so lost my Christmas gifts for that year. The porters of the
neighbourhood could not comprehend the motives for such an
act of disinterestedness and independence ; and when we fell
into company, which we sometimes did, at Dolly Burton's,
who kept an excellent tap at the " Eed Lion," in Church
■ Street, I was lucky if I did not hear my self-denial characterised
in disparaging terms. They said I could be nothing less than a
fool, to miss a legal and honest chance of putting a pound or two
into my pocket, for the trouble of a forenoon's walk ; and they
talked to me so, that, in sooth, I began myself to think I was
not so bright about the head as some folks. Accordingly, the
next New Year's Day I went with two others on that, to me,
distasteful errand, and in about three hours I had pocketed
thirty shillings. But I resolved never to go again. There
was so much humiliation mixed up with the thing, that though
the money was useful, I felt self-reproached when I reflected
how it had been obtained. So there was no more New Year's
giftitig for me. -

I think it was about this time that Chatterton's life and
poems fell in my way. They interested me very deeply,
though I could , not help believing that his account of the

235

236 EABLY DAYS,

Eowley manuscripts was scarcely credible. Burns's life and
writings next fell into my hands — Kobert Burns, the Scottish
ploughman, of whom I had heard mention made so often, and
yet, strangely enough, had never read one sentence. Well now
the poems, and an account of the manner in which this gifted
man wore out his life in this world, were before me. And did
I not sit down, beside my quiet desk, under the skylight, and
read, or rather compress to my very soul, every word of that
precious book ? Aye, through, and through, and through
again did I note it, line by line, and sentence by sentence.
And this man, whom methought I saw before me as plainly as
if he had stood there, was Kobert Burns, the deathless-named,
the world-wide famed Kobert Burns. There he was, a tall,
stooping, lank-haired, weather-browned, dreamy-eyed, God-
crowned, noble-minded ploughman. And this, too, was of his
writing, of his soul uttering; this "Lass o' Ballochmoyle "
was one strain of his never-dying melody ! If this be really so
— if this be indeed his poetry — what can these sensations pos-
sibly be, which awaken within me whenever I read a true
poet's verse ; these strange and undefined emotions which have
brooded over my heart ever since I knew what love and poetry
were. If these expressed sensations of the noble poet peasant
constituted his im|)erishable wreath, what could these unex-
pressed but somewhat identical feelings of mine be, save
poetry without the form — a spirit without the body. What
then, methought, if I tried to throw them into form? what if
I dared an essay to give them utterance in verse ? Burns
thereat looked kindly — or so I dreamed — and with a sweet,
strong voice said encouragingly, " Try mon, and fear not."
So I tried, and the result was such that when vanity whispered,
** I also am a poet," I knew not that it was vanity ; and from
that time I became an occasional writer of verse.

So greatly was I pleased with the character of Burns that in
accepting him as an example I made a too faint distinction
betwixt his genius and his failings, and in striving to emulate
the one I sometimes fell into an imitation of the other, which
was quite a different thing. My visits to Dolly Burton's
became more frequent, after warehouse time, and were occa-

-^ BOBEET BUBNS. 237

sionally prolonged beyond the limits of sober refreshment. A
few clerks, tradesmen, and some of the better sort of porters,
used to meet in the little parlour there, and after discussing
the news of the town, or of the nation, during which pipes and
glasses were replenished pretty freely, and joke and banter
were not spared, singing would commence, and a strange thing
would it have been indeed had it terminated without

v^ s '* Wlia first shall rise to gang awa, ^ (

A cuckold coward loon is he ; ,

^ Wha first beside his chair does fa, "^

He shall be king amang us three."

. But then, Mother Burton's ale was of so excellent a tap,
and she was so kindly an old landlady, at once discreet and
obliging, that we respected her as much as we liked her ale,
and there might be something in that also which detained us)
But whatever was the cause of our frequent meetings, whether
the ale, or the landlady, or the music, or all together, it would
be greatly probable indeed, that before we separated a
couple or two of our cronies would be in a condition to enact
Shanter or Souter Johnny on their way home.

I was not so unreflective as not to perceive to what this
course must inevitably tend, and with a view to put an end to
it at once, I resolved to marry. This was the more likely to
be effected without much difficulty, inasmuch as my courtship
had been duly paid, and it was long now since my intended
fair had entertained any other expectation than the one I
now purposed to accompHsh. So one forenoon, when she
came to Manchester on an errand, I asked leave out of the
warehouse for an hour, and having met her at a place appointed^,
we proceeded to a goldsmith's shop, and I contrived to fit her
neat finger with a ring, worth nine shillings, which she folded
in tissue paper, and then in another paper, and next wrapped
in a huzzif, tying it round and round with the tape band, and
next placed it in a pocket-book which she carefully folded and
conveyed to the very deepest recess of her pocket, feehng again,
to make sure that it was there. This important business being

238 EABLY DAYS, i

settled, I helped her to mount her little tit Trim, bade her
good-bye for the present, and seeing her off at a trot towards
home, I returned to my work, happy in the certainty that
when I was wed, I should have a wife who would create for
me an ever- welcome home.

The banns had been duly published, the day agreed upon,
and all was ready. So I made an appointment with my
friend Booth to rise early on Sunday morning, and take a
good swim in the river before I went to meet my bride ahd
her friends. Booth and I were up betimes, and as speedily in
the water at Sandy Well, luxuriating in the cool element most
gleesomely, when what should start us from our enjoyment
^but the sound of the old church bell ringing seven o'clock,
within a quarter of an hour of the very time at which we
should have met Mima and her company at Harpurhey. We
had been mistaken in the time an hour. So we put on our
clothes, and hastened towards the place appointed, but before
we arrived there we espied the party coming on the road, and
meeting them, we all came to Manchester, in a very good
humour, as wedding folks ought to be. After breakfasting at
my sister's in Greengate, where I lodged, we proceeded to the
Old Church, and lo ! when the ring was produced, the bride's
finger was so swollen with walking, that the ring could not be
passed over the joint. The minister, who was the Eeverend
Joshua Brooks, seeing that the ring was not placed according
to custom, began, as he read the service, to thumb it with his
nail, in order to force it over. I was afraid he would hurt the
dear little woman, and was about to remonstrate, when he
suddenly quitted us, and hastening to one side of the com-
munion rails, he gave a boy who stood leaning against them
a smart box on the ear, and then, without saying a word, he
returned to us. Meantime, in order to prevent his further
annoyance, I had taken hold of the whole of the finger, and
held it with the ring on in my hand. But he now attempted
to thrust my hand away, and tried to commence forcing the
ring up again.

" Let the ring go over," he said.

** It can't go further," I replied, " her finger is swelled."

A WEDDING. 239

" It can go further, and it shall go further," said the irritable
little being, and I, almost as irritable, said quickly, *' It sha'n't
*go further."

** Oh ; very well," then observed he, " stand down, you are
not man and wife until I have bestowed the benediction."

" Benediction ? indeed ! " thought I, " a blessed benediction
it must be that has to pass those lips."

However we stood back, and as he had finished the cere-
mony for us, except the benediction, he went through th&
same form with four or five other couples, after which the
clerk ordered us all to kneel down ; we of course kneeled with
the others, and the benediction having been bestowed indis-
criminately, we rose from our Jjnees, and I suppose each
bridegroom did as I did, for there was a sound of kisses in the
place. ■

*' How stupid you were," said the reverend personage, when
we went into the vestry to sign the registers, and to pay the
fees — No, I had forgotten, the fees were paid beforehand —
"How stupid you were," said he, "not to let the ring go on
the finger." /'[

" The ring was on the finger," I said.

" Yes, but not properly; not ovei" the joint."

" That is not required," I said. " Besides, the finger was
swollen, and it was painful."

But the ring is over the joint now," said he.
Yes, but not through your endeavours; and whether it
were or not you had no right to interfere in the manner you
did. The ring was on the finger, and the form of solemnisa-
tion does not require more."

"Pho, pho, man," said he, "sign the book; sign the

book."

Both Mimi and I signed the book. Thus we were married,

and I was happy.

The morning following, I opened the warehouse, and pre-
pared it as usual, and the remainder of the day was given me
to keep my wedding on. Mima and I went to Middleton, and
whilst we sat at a merry tea party at my uncle's, a being
which -was dearest to me of any in the world, save my wife.

240 EABLY DAYS.

was brought in, and presented. A young girl held in her arms
a sweet infant, just of age to begin noticing things. It fixed
its good-tempered look upon me, smiled, and stretched forth
its hands. " Bless thee," I said in my heart — taking it in my
arms, and pressing it to my bosom — "Bless thee, my dear
babe, though my coming has been late, and after long looking
for, I will be a kind father to thee. Yes, though a proud and
supercilious world may view with contempt the misfortune of
thy birth, the more it disparage thee, the greater shall be my
love. Bless thee, my little innocent," and I held it fondly,
for my heart yearned towards it. Meanwhile, as if its mother
had heard what my heart alone spoke to my child and to God,
she sat looking at us through trembling tears. I gave the
babe to her, saying kindly, '* Dear love, be happy. The
fault was mine, and it shall be my life's endeavour to repair
it."

Soon after this we commenced housekeeping at Manchester,
and a brief period having elapsed, my wife and child again-
returned to live at Middleton, I generally, in summer timej
walking over after warehouse hours ; in winter visiting them
twice or thrice a week, and always spending my Saturday
nights and Sundays at home. I was now a settled family
man, serving my employers duly, and, God knows, I can with
truth say, that I served them honestly also. My greatest
ambition was to please them, and to provide for my family,
and as I was tolerably successful in both objects, I was as
happy as a mortal need be in this world.

It was about this time, that the authorities and some of the
ultra-loyal inhabitants of Manchester made their first grand
poHtical mistake, which occurred within the sphere of my'
observation. Charles Wood, I recollect, was Borough reeve
that year, and a placard with — if I mistake not — his name
appended, was exhibited, calling on the inhabitants of Man-
chester and its vicinity to meet in St. Ann's Square, for the
purpose of passing a congratulatory address to the Prince
Eegent, afterwards George IV. On the day appointed there
was a large muster of people from the neighbouring towns and
villages, and the original concocters of the measure, fearing

A BIOT. /> 241

they would not be able to carry it, kept entirely away, and
abandoned their intention altogether. The crowd, seeing
there was not to be any meeting, formed a ring in the square,
and appointed a chairman, and passed some resolutions^ of a
tendency contrary to those originally purposed to be carried.
Meantime, groups of people were in other parts beginning to
commit excesses. About half a dozen, who from their ap-
pearance seemed to be countrymen, accosted a gentleman at
the entrance from Exchange Street into the square, and after
some opprobrious expressions they laid hands on him, and
then began to strike him with sticks which they carried. He
tried to escape into some of the shops, but the doors and
windows being mostly fastened he was disappointed. The
men continued striking him ; his hat was knocked off, and on
his head, which I saw was a little bald in the front, he re-
ceived several blows. My feelings and partialities had hitherto
been all on the side of the populace, but I could not witness
this cowardly outrage without feelings of indignation and dis-

. gust. Pushing in amongst them, " For shame, men," I said,
and warding off two or three blows, I received several on my
arms and shoulders. At that moment, some one in a shop,
opening the door, as if to see what was the matter, the gentle-

' man slipped in, and the door was again closed and bolted in
an instant.

' "'Just then a great shout was set up near the Exchange,
and the whole party hastened off in that direction, I following
leisurely. When I got there a number of fellows were throw-
ing chairs, tables, and benches through the windows above the
post office, and the furniture being quickly broken up, the
fragments were used in smashing the lamps, and front
windows of the building. Another party of the mob were in
the large room, breaking and destroying everything that
stood in their way, or that excited their spirit of mischief.
Fragments of tables and chairs were hurled through the
.windows into the street, and thence back again; the costly
chandeliers were shivered to atoms, and at length, a heap of
straw was piled up and set on fire. At this juncture the police
and a party of the Cumberland miUtia arrived ; the fire was

VOL. I. 16

242

EABLY DAYS. '

extinguished^ and several of the rioters were taken into
custody. A troop or two of the Scots Greys soon afterwards ^
made their appearance, and began clearing the streets, when, '
it being then warehouse time, I hastened to my work.

- ' //

v„

■■'•■>-i!{

. .\'

■ ''7 <

I- :

CHAPTEE XXVIl.

A CRITICISM — MIDDLETON FIGHT — A PAItTING — CONCLUSION.

In the exercise of my talent for verse-making, I had so well
pleased myself that at length I determined to test the merit of
one of my productions by offering it for publication, in the
Manchester Gazette. The office of that paper was then at the
top of Hunter's Lane, and William Cowdroy was the editor ; a
gentleman of whom I had a very high opinion, for, though he
was rather satirical, and at times, somewhat crusty with his
correspondents, he on the whole, evinced an encouraging
spirit ; at all times he exhibited a quick and just perception,
and to his judgment, therefore, was this piece of mine sub-
mitted. It was a description, in verse, of my first visit to
Oldham, and described in an ironical strain the interior of a
cottage at Priest Hill, and scenery in the immediate neigh-
bourhood. It was in the Lancashire dialect, and commenced
as follows : —

" 'Twur on a Sunday afternoon,
I don'd me shoynin' Sunday shoon,
An off I seet wi' Jim an' Jack,
We beawnc'd to Owdhiam in a crack."

After the description of the place, which was certainly dog-
gerelish, it concluded with this stanza : —

<* An' neaw yon meawntuns hee and far,
Curtain'd the god o' day ;
Gone to the west his feyery car,

An sunk his blazin ray.
Wi evening mild, we tripp'd the plain,
An' merrily hied us whom again^"

243

244 E ABLY DAYS, .

I put it in the letter box, and on the Saturday following a
note to correspondents desired the writer to call at the office.
Accordingly, on an evening of the week following, I, in a state
of mind betwixt doubt and assurance, called, and was shown
into a room, where I awaited the appearance of the literary
Solon as if death or fate had depended on the issue. At
length he came, a man about sixty years of age ; of middle
height and somewhat fat and fussy; his complexion was a
little rubicund ; his nose, with spectacles on it, somewhat
snubby ; his eyes, as he looked under or over the glasses, grey
and piercing; and his general appearance and manner that
of one possessing power, and disposed to use it in his own
way.

" Well, young man," said he, holding his head back, and
looking at me, " what is the business you are come upon? "

I said I was come about a piece of poetry. '

'* What poetry ?" asked he.

** It was a piece entitled ' A Trip to Oldham,' and the writer
was requested to call at the office."

''Are you the writer of that? " he asked.

I said I was.

" And how the d 1 could you expect that I should give it .

a place in my paper ? "

I said I hardly did expect so much as that, but I hoped to
obtain his opinion as to its merits.

** Well, then, my opinion is that it has no merits," he said.

I said I was but a young hand at verse making, and if he
would state whether it was the subject, or the manner of
treating it, which rendered the piece objectionable, I should
feel obliged.

*'Ohl both are objectionable; it is trumpery doggerel
throughout. Here is your paper, and I hope you will never
offer me any more such." Saying which, he took up the
candle, and went out of the place, leaving me to grope my way
down the lobby and out at the door as well as I could.

Such was the first reception which my verses met with from
a Manchester editor. Sorely indeed were my expectations
disappointed, and sadly humbled was my ambition, yet I was

A CBITIGISM. ' 24

not disheartened. *' This being a failure," I said to myself, as
I was going down Hunter's Lane, '* I must e'en try to do bettei
the next time, as many a poor genius has done before me.
And notwithstanding what the critic has said, I am as certain
as I am of my own existence that there are redeeming passages
in the poem. He does not understand it. It is written in a
rude dialect. He is testy and out of humour. And besides,
he is no Solomon after all." Thus I criticised the critic, and
settled the matter, in my way.

One afternoon we were astonished and alarmed at the
warehouse by a report which had come into the town thai
the power-loom manufactory of Messrs. Burton and Sons, ai
Middleton, had been attacked by a numerous mob, with the
intent of destroying the machinery, and that several of the
mob had been shot dead, and a number wounded, a As soor
as we had locked up for the evening, I, of course, hastened of
to Middleton, and on my arrival found the report to be true.

About two o'clock on the afternoon of this day (the 20th o;
April) the inhabitants of the town were surprised by the
appearance of numbers of men, many of them armed witl
sticks and bludgeons, who simultaneously arrived in the towr
from various districts of the surrounding country. Severa!
provision shops in the upper part of the town were entered
and plundered of bread, cheese, bacon, and groceries, and ir
some instances plunder was prevented by presents of money
The mob seemed to arrive from all parts at once, and th(
smaller parties having formed into one main body in th(
turnpike road, the whole proceeded to the lower part of th(
town, and there joined another large crowd, which seemingly
had been waiting for their arrival. In this year — 1812 — ther(
had been much destruction of machinery in various parts of th(
manufacturing districts of the kingdom, and when the infatua
tion spread into Lancashire, the power looms of Messrs. Burtoi
seem to have attracted the early attention and hostility of i
great portion of the hand-working operatives, who, by mean
of secret delegations, held frequent private meetings for th(
purpose of concerting measures for the stoppage or destructioi
of the obnoxious machines. Of these proceedings the Messrs

246 EAELY DAYS.

Burton were probably informed^ since a number of their weavers,
dressers, and overlookers had been for some time drilled to the
use of firearms within the mill. A piece or two of small
ordnance were also placed within the yard, opposite the main
entrance, and such other precautions had been taken as were
deemed necessary for the defence of the place. These measures
were superintended by Mr. Emanuel Burton, who was greatly
respected by the workmen, and bad inspired them with a
portion of his own spirit of resistance.

On the report reaching the factory that the mob was coming,
the works were stopped, and all the hands, save those detained
for the defence of the mill, were sent home. The mob, after a
short delay in the market place, proceeded to the bottom of
Wood Street, where the factory was situated, and halted in
front of the building, and a score or two of boys who led the
mob set up a shout, and began to throw stones and break the
windows. A number of discharges from the mill followed, but
as no one seemed to have been hurt another shout was set up,
and the cry went round, " Oh ! they're nobbu feyerin peawther;
they darno shoot bullets,'* and the stone throwing was recom-
menced: Other discharges from the mill now took place, and
some of the mob who had experience in such matters remarked
that the crack was different, and that ball was being fired. A
moment only confirmed this opinion, for several were wounded,
and three fell dead, on seeing which the mob fled in all direc-
tions. In a short tiine a troop of the Scots Greys were in the
town, and they were quickly followed by a company of the
Cumberland militia. The streets and lanes were then cleared,
after which the horsemen returned to Manchester, and the
militia took up their quarters in the mill.

The number of the wounded on this unfortunate occasion
was never truly known, but it was soon ascertained that four
persons, all young men, had been killed. Joseph Jackson,
sixteen years of age, and David Knott, aged twenty, both from
Oldham, were killed at the end of Chapel Street ; John Siddall,
of Radcliffe Bridge, aged twenty- two, was killed lower down
the street ; and George Albison, a young man from Rhodes,
was wounde(J whilst going along the highway, and shortly

. .\ MIDDLE TON FIGHT. 247

after bled to death, there being no surgical aid proniptly at
hand. ■% .

On my arrival the streets were all quiet, the doors closed,
and the alehouses silent. People's minds were, however, sadly
agitated, and fierce denunciations were uttered against ''Bur-
ton and his shooters," whilst very little anger was expressed
against the men who had plundered shops. In the coat pocket
of one of the killed was found a half-pound of currants, the
fruit, no doubt, of such plunder,

V I state these things because they are facts, and not from any
feeling which I now have, one way or the other, except for

' truth ; though at the time I entertained perhaps as strong a
dislike towards the "shooters " and their employers as did any
man in the town.

My dear wife and child I found safe at home, but greatly
was I alarmed, and exceedingly thankful, when I learned that
my wife, in her curiosity to watch a mob, had gone down the
town, and, with another thoughtless woman or two, had stood
at the window of a cottage nearly opposite to the factory,
within range of the shot, and only a few yards from the spot
where one man was killed, I gave her a lecture for so doing,
the first perhaps since our marriage, and being convinced of
her folly, she promised never to transgress in that way again ^
and I daresay she never has. m

The morning following this eventful day I went to my work
at Manchester, as usual, and in the afternoon we were again
startled by the intelligence that a mob larger than that of the
day before had visited Middleton, and had burned the dwelling
of Mr. Emanuel Burton and those of several of his workmen
to the ground. On my way to Middleton that evening I met

. individuals on the road who were returning to Manchester
with fragments of picture frames and mal^gany goods in their
hands. The mob had indeed been desperately bent on destruc-
tion that day, but, more wary than on the day preceding, they
had divided their forces, and whilst one strong party threatened
the factory, and by that means detained the militia at that
post, others went to the houses of certain of the workmen who
bad defended the factory the day before, and not finding them

• .. ■■ »

248 EAELY DAYS.

at home, had piled their furniture in the street, and had de-
stroyed it by fire. In this manner the furniture of one cottage
at Back-o'th'-brow, and that of two others at the Club houses
was destroyed. The mob, it should be understood, was on
this day armed with guns, scythes, old swords, bludgeons, and
pitchforks. A party of colliers from the neighbourhoods of
Oldham and Hollinwood carried mattocks, and with these ■
tools were in the act of knocking the end of a house down, ^
when they were called off to another place. For whilst thesfe ..
outrages were in progress at Back-o'th'-brow and Club houses, ^
another party of rioters set off towards Ehodes, ajid it was to ' '
aid these latter that the colliers were called away. The house
of Mr. Emanuel Burton, at Parkfield, was the first object
which attracted their vengeance. It had been abandoned by
the family, and the mob immediately ransacked the cellars and
larder, the younger ones crunching lumps of loaf sugar or
licking out preserve jars, whilst the older hands tapped^ the
beer barrels and the spirit bottles, or devoured the choice but
substantial morsels of the pantry or store-room. This part of
the business having been accomplished, the work of destruction
commenced, and nearly every article of furniture was irretriev-
ably broken. Amongst the rioters were two sisters, who might '
have been taken for young Amazons, so active were they in the
pillage, and so influential in directing others. To some of those
around them they were, however, known only as *' Clem " and
** Nan," the two tall, dark-haired, and handsomely formed
daughters of a venerable old weaver, who lived on one of the ',
borders of the township. These two were in a room, the
windows of which were hung with light muslin curtains, and
a sofa, with a cover of light cotton, was also in the same room.
Nothing further in the way of breakage remaining to be done,
and these two beinglthe only ones in this room, '' Come," said
one to the other, ''let's put a finish to this job," and taking
up a shred which lay on the floor, she lighted it at the fire ^
which had been left burning in the grate. In a moment the
sofa was on fire ; the sofa set the curtains in a blaze, and sofa
and curtains communicated the flames to the floor and window,
and at the expiration of probably half an hour not a beam nor
a board remained unconsumed in the whole building.

A PABTING. - 249

The next place intended for destruction was the mansion
and farmstead of Mr. Burton, senr., at Ehodes, and only a
'very short distance from the scene which has just been
described. A part of the mob was already hovering about
the grounds, and some individuals had advanced into the yard
and begun operations, when a tumult and a clatter of hoofs
caused them to look around, and they beheld the Scots Greys
close upon them. Their flight and dispersion were the work
of an instant, and this valuable property was saved.

Whilst the Greys were dispersing the mob at Park House
and Ehodes, others of the same regiment, assisted by the
Militia, were clearing the rioters out of Middleton, which they
did speedily and effectively. In the performance of these
services, however, greater severity was exercised than had
been the wont of these two corps on former occasions. A
man named John Nield, from Oldham, was shot through the
body by one of the Greys whilst attempting to escape near
Alkrington Hall ; another man was shot by one of the Greys,
and left for dead, near Tonge Lane ; a woman, also, who was
looking through her own window, was fired at by another of
the same party, and a bullet went through her arm. But a
Serjeant of the Militia earned deathless execration by shooting
an old man, named Johnson, from Oldham. Johnson had
never been nearer to the mob or the factory than the Church
publichoUse, where he had sat in the kitchen with the family-,
and 'had smoked his pipe and drunk a glass or two of ale.
Towards evening, when it was supposed that all the disturb-
ance was over, he strolled into the churchyard, and was
standing with his hands in his coat pockets, reading the
inscription on a grave-stone at the steeple end, when a Serjeant
and private of the Militia, having ascended the Warren, caught
sight of him from amongst the trees; the Serjeant went down
on one knee, leyelled, fired, and killed the old man dead, the
ball passing through his neck.

A number of shots were fired at the soldiers during the
pursuit, but none of them, I beHeve, were wounded, except
from casualties with their horses. A number of persons were
made prisoners during the riot, and subsequently many left

250 EABLY DAltS.

the country for a time. The two Amazonian damsels escaped
seizure, and few only of the real leaders were ever prosecuted ;
whilst several who had as little to do with the outrage as I had
myself were, on the information of a bad, half-crazed, but artful
doxey, named Kent, lodged in jail, tried, found guilty, and
sentenced to long imprisonments.

And now, friend reader, I have to return to my own affairs,
and to relate an incident, which, next to my grandfather's
rejection of Madam Ann Bamford's overtures, and my father's
refusal to let me learn Latin, had probably a greater influence
in determining my subsequent condition than had any other
event of my life. I allude to the circumstance of my leaving
the employ of my old masters, in Peel Street, and to my
preference of a country residence with domestic employment,
which consigned me at once to a life of independence, with
alternate ease, exigency, and poverty.

Our young gentleman, Mr. M. the salesman, having been
recently married, and become a housekeeper, it happened that
he wanted a load of coals, and as I was always glad to render
him a service, I undertook to get him a load of real Oldham
Black Mine. We had been very slack at the works of late, "
and the cart had often returned almost without any load, and
as no intimation had been given me of a change in that
respect, I went out after breakfast, although it was a market
day, and bought the coals for Mr. M., and saw them delivered
and paid for. On my return to the warehouse, the cart had,
to my surprise, been waiting to be loaded with grey goods*
On my meeting Mr. Hole in the passage, he looked displeased,
and asked where I had been ? I told him, and he said I was .
neglectful ; that I ought not to have gone off when I knew the
cart would have to be loaded, and if I could not attend to
-their business better I had best look out for another situation.
I merely replied that I had not been wilfully neglectful, for
that I did not expect the cart would have to be loaded that
day ; and so I went to work, and had the cart loaded and off
in quick time. Those expressions of my employer sunk deep
into my mind : they sorely wounded my feelings. I pondered'
them over and over, trying to discover some ameliorative^

CONCLUSION, 251

eaning in them, but as I could not disguise or qualify their
ntention, I told Mr. M. at the week's end that I understood
^r. Hole's words as a notice to leave, and that I should
iccordingly do so at the expiration of a month.

I am not assured that Mr. M. said anything in my favour
io my employer respecting this business, though I daresay he
vould not omit so fair a course. Nothing, however, was said
;o me, until the month was out, when Mr. M. said they were
lot yet suited with a man, and it would put them to great
nconv^nience if I left at that time. I accordingly stopped
mother fortnight, and as they were not yet prepared, I
jtopped another week and then left the situation.

As trade was now going well, work for the loom was readily
)btainable, and good wages were given. After, therefore,
[ had made up my mind to leave, I turned my attention to
employment of this sort, purchased looms, bespoke work for
nyself and wife, who had become tolerably handy at the
business, so that when I left Messrs. Hole and Co. I was in a
Jegree pledged to become a weaver.

I should, however, mention that, pursuant to my habit of
/■ersifying on nearly every occasion in which my feelings were
nterested, I had composed a couple of stanzas on this
nomentous event, which stanzas, on the day of my departure,
[ wrote on the slate on my desk, and left them there. They
ivere as follows :

" To-morrow's sun beholds me free,

Come night, and I no more will own
A master's high authority*,

Nor bend beneath his angry frown ;
But to my native woods and plains
I'll haste, and join the rustic swains.

Gay printed ' fancies,' ' plates,' nor * chintz,'

No more with wonder shall I view,
Nor criticise the various tints

Of pink or azure, green or blue.
Save when I pluck the flow'ret sweet
That clasps my lonely wandering feet."

' A farewell, I may surely be allowed to say, quite poetical,
ind sfentimexital enough for a ha;fd-fisted w^^rehouse porter,

262 , ■ EARLY DAYS.

Well ! on the Tuesday after I had left, I went to Manchester
about the work I was to have, and as one warehouse which I
had to call at was in Watling Street, and another was in
Marsden's Square, I must go past my old warehouse or take a
circuit, and I chose the direct road. When I got into Peel '
Street, old Bob, the carter, who was never very active, was
sadly hobbled in the loading of carboys and other unhandy
articles, and as I stopped to inquire how he was, he asked me
to lend him a hand, and I did so. My place had not yet
become occupied by another, and Mr. M. seeing me helping about
the door, called me in, and asked me where the scissors were
with which we used to cut patterns ? So I found them, and he
desired me to take them to Mr. Hole, who was upstairs in the
sale room, and that I did also. Mr. Hole, on seeing me, was
quite free, and asked very kindly how I was, to which
I replied in that tone of becoming respect which I never could
suppress when treated with proper regard. He sent me up- -
stairs into the smaller print room for some pattern shreds, and,
taking a passing glance at my little recess and the desk,-
I noticed that the slate was removed, an intimation , to me
that the place had been overhauled, and my verses probably
discovered. I was therefore the less surprised when on my
return to the sale room Mr. Hole asked me whether or not
I had got another situation ? I said I had not got another.'
He asked' whether I had any expectations of one, and I
repHed that I had not yet made any application. Because,
he said, '' You are qualified for a more respectable situation^
than the one you have had with us, and if you think proper to
look out, and apply for one such as I have alluded to, I will
give you a recommendation, with which you will not need to
be ashamed in asking for one highly respectable ; and as you
are at present disengaged, if you choose to come back and
stop with us until something more befitting you offers, you
will find everything agreeable as heretofore." I thanked him
in terms of fervent and sincere gratitude; stated to him what
were my views relative to present employment, and said that
should I have occasion to change my plans, and to revert to
the prospects which he had opened before me, I would, with

• ^ CONCLUSION. 263

every sentiment of grateful respect, hasten to avail myself of
his kind assistance.

He said he was afraid I was acting on a mistaken view of
what was most conductive to my welfare, and he should be
glad if I did not regret it hereafter.

I said I hoped I should not, and that at any rate, for the
present I should be happy with my family.
And so, with mutual kind wishes, we parted.
^ And here, for the present at least, must the reader and
I part also. A narrative of the course of my life from 1813 to
1816 may perhaps engage my pen on some future day. Mean-
time, the reader may be given to understand, that having, on
my leaving Manchester, secured plenty of material for the
loom, my wife and myself working in one place, she soon
became an expert weaver, and we were as happy, probably, as
two human beings of our condition could be ; our little girl,
the light of our eyes, and the joy of our hearts, playing beside
■,us. Afterwards we went to reside with my wife's uncle and
aunt, she assisting the old people in the house and shop, and
I, on the recommendation of Mr.^ Hole, taking the situation of
putter-out to weavers at Middleton, for Messrs. Dickinson and
Wilde. Afterwards they offered me an engagement at their
■warehouse in Manchester, which I declined. Subsequently,
. for a short time I was engaged in the bookselling or publica-
' tion business ; and, in 1816, was a member of a Committee of
Parhamentary Eeformers, and secretary to the Hampden
Club, at Middleton. Should the reader, during any leisure
moment, wish to hear my narrative resumed, he may consult
my book entitled " Passages in the Life of a Kadical," and if
that does not suffice, but he wishes for further acquaintance,
he may peruse my ** Walks in South Lancashire," which I
purpose shortly to resume. Those walks may perhaps lead us
to " The End," after which some abler hand will probably
' take up the task of marker for history, which I have so im-
perfectly performed.

END OF VOL. I.

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